


Moments in Time

by Holygreensaints (Vortaesthetic)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Flayn is the baby you gotta love her, Occasional sexytimes, Okay so they finally kissed now what, Seteth needs a holiday, Slice of Life, canon scene reinterpretation, homemade lore, just kiss already dammit, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/pseuds/Holygreensaints
Summary: Started as a drabble collection featuring Seteth and Byleth, but touches on various moments in their life.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 64
Kudos: 185





	1. A Pillow Would Have Been Nice

**A Pillow Would Have Been Nice**

"Hey. Rise and shine."

Seteth jerked awake with a start, head out of sorts and remarkably uncomfortable. Dimly, he became aware of a piece of parchment stuck to his face. He could feel the numbness on his cheek from where it had spent half the night pressed against the unforgivingly uncomfortable hardwood desk.

Great. He'd fallen asleep at his desk again. It was hardly the first time, though every time it happened, he swore it would be the last.

(It never was.)

He stiffly straightened, rubbing his face, hoping he hadn't gotten any ink smears on his face. Manuela had had a field day last time that happened. He roughly ran his hand through his hair, straightening out his clothes as Byleth took a seat in one of his office chairs. She watched him with a strange look on her face that he couldn't quite read.

"Ah. Good morning, Professor."

"Good morning, Seteth," echoed Byleth. "Is this a habit of yours?"

"Unfortunately, yes. What brings you here so early?"

"Flayn told me that she hadn't seen you this morning before she came to breakfast. Considering everything that's been going on, I thought it best to check on you," Byleth said. "Sorry about entering without permission, by the way. But I felt that it was necessary to confirm your safety. If someone took Flayn, they could have very well been after you. But you were just sleeping at your desk, it seems."

Despite his embarrassment, Seteth did feel touched that Byleth was concerned for his safety. Things had only recently been thawing out between them after the harrowing events of the Horsebow Moon, and while he was hesitant about labeling their relationship a friendship quite yet, there was an intangible trust beginning to form between them. A hope. He wasn't sure what it meant, but there was a surety and an honesty in the professor that he wanted to lean into.

"Apologies, Professor. I did not mean to cause worry. I have a tendency to… overextend myself at times. Or to lose track of the time. It is a bad habit. One which I will most likely pay for today," he said with a grimace, the stiffness in his back making itself known as he straightened in his chair. "I do appreciate your assistance, however. I should have been up hours ago. There are things to be done."

(Always things to be done. They never stopped coming.)

Byleth's stoic countenance continued to blaze on him like a spotlight. She clearly had something else to say, but whether she was having a hard time coming up with the words or had decided against voicing it, he couldn't be sure.

"Is…is there something else that you needed, Professor?"

"No. There's nothing I need. But you obviously spend a lot of time and effort to take care of everyone around here. I just thought that someone ought to remind you to take care of yourself, too. Not just for your sister's sake, but for you."

The Professor excused herself with a nod and left, rushing off to catch her morning lecture class. Seteth could only stare after her as she retreated, his mind turning over a muddled mix of emotions. Sure, he was a little ashamed for having his chronic failures at self-care called out…but it was touching that she expressed concern for him. Him, personally. That she had considered him in some capacity other than as a supervisor or an advisor or an adversary. Something between them was different.

Perhaps she is worthy of trusting, he thought. She's already got his gratitude, but perhaps she was worthy of more than that. Maybe it really could be friendship? He had precious few to call friends, after all. What harm could there be in finding one for himself?

He sighed as he extracted himself from his chair. He must be off to his room to make himself presentable. His hair must be dreadful, and the bags under his eyes might frighten the students.

(He considers taking the afternoon off to fish with Flayn. Perhaps he could invite the Professor to join them.)


	2. Lunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch dates became a thing. Whoops

**Lunch Date**

Seteth found himself sitting down to Saturday afternoon lunch with the Professor more and more often these days. It was an unexpected change in the trajectory of their relationship to be certain… but it was a welcome one.

Normally, he took his meals in his office unless he was specifically dining with Flayn. Alas, Flayn was a young woman trying to spread her wings and fit in with her friends, which meant the opportunity to share lunch with his daughter didn't present itself nearly as often as he would like.

Sure, there was nothing preventing him from taking his meal there regardless, but he had found his presence tended to unsettle most students in the dining hall-- leading to a mutually unpleasant experience. True, he was a serious man but he disliked being perceived as terrifying or dour. He'd eventually decided after a few stilted meals that rather eat by himself than negotiate lunchroom personality dynamics.

That was why it was so unexpected to have been called over to Byleth's table one afternoon. She had offered him a seat in a relatively quiet corner of the room and offered him the promise of tolerable company and he accepted.

It had been quite pleasant. The warm afternoon sunbeams had streamed in through the windows behind them. She had asked him questions about himself and he'd confessed his hobby of collecting and writing fables. He'd asked her about her travel experiences while traveling with Jeralt throughout her childhood. They had bonded over a mutual love of spicy fish dango, children's stories and the splendors of the northwestern coastline. It had been an unexpectedly pleasant experience.

He hadn't expected it to be a recurring one, though. She invited him again. And again. And before he knew it, it was a thing. As sure as the church bells rang, Sundays heralded time to see the Professor.

To see _Byleth._

Every time they met, he got a chance to learn something new about her. Every time, he got an opportunity to share something of himself. They would share their mutual amusement and frustrations at the antics of their eccentric flock of students. Sometimes they spoke of important things, others of nothing at all.

They had become friends along the way.

It was a nice feeling, to be expected. To feel that his presence was wanted, not because he could be of use, but because of him. He was a very reserved individual, a man wrapped in a cloak of secrecy and that made it hard to trust and befriend. But Byleth seemed to take it all in stride, perhaps because she was made of secrets herself. Secrets to which not even she knew the answers.

Despite the fact that she genuinely didn't know her biographical history, she was not an empty vessel. There was soul in there, feeling. Emotion she was trying to learn to understand, to express. Disconnects she was trying to bridge with others to feel like she belonged. It was in her eyes that he'd learned to understand her. And once he learned that, it changed _everything._

"Care for a piece?" Byleth asks, startling him from his reminiscing.

He's pulled back to the present moment when Byleth offers him the last of her peach-currant filled sweet buns. The smallest quirk of her lips betrays the beginnings of a smile, but her eyes are rich with warmth. Comfort. Her fingers are stained with powdered sugar. The air is rich with anticipation for the upcoming ball. Flayn sits with them today, cheerfully regaling them with stories of her morning exploits at the fishing pond. He can see the fondness in Byleth's eyes as she listens to Flayn; the amusement in her eyes as they banter about the existence of the pond monster.

It's such a precious moment in time that it actually hurts his heart-- this feeling of togetherness, this echo of a family long lost. Byleth, choosing to spend her moment of respite with Flayn… and with him. It's a beautiful ache, because it teases him into believing that this could someday be more.

_(Could it be...?)_

He accepts her offering with a smile, splitting the dessert between the three of them.

Oh, what he would give for these innocent days to last forever.


	3. Waltz (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball approaches. A dancer is chosen.

**Waltz (1/3)**

"Brother! Brother! The most marvelous thing has happened!"

The sound of his door suddenly slamming open had sent Seteth's paperwork toppling to the floor with a start. He'd spent ages putting this file together, too…

"Flayn… we've spoken about this before, have we not? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Flayn gave him a sheepish smile in response. 

"I am terribly sorry! I did not mean to cause you such fright. I promise to be more careful. But Brother, I have such wonderful news to share! I simply couldn't help it!"

Seteth couldn't help but smile at his spirited daughter, even as he proceeded to pick up the paperwork he'd dropped. "Let's hear it then, Flayn. What is your wonderful news?"

Flayn could hardly suppress her joy. "The Professor chose me for the White Heron Cup! I pleaded with her to give me a chance to dance for our house and she said yes!"

Seteth smiled at his daughter's obvious joy. It warmed him so to see her so happy. Given everything that she'd been through lately, she had earned herself a little harmless fun. The chance to be young…

"That's terrific news, Flayn. I am delighted for you. But the competition is only two weeks away," said Seteth. "How do you intend to prepare? Do you have everything that you need? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He was already mentally clearing out his schedile for dancing lessons when Flayn emphatically shook her head.

"Professor Byleth told me she would train me! She moves with such grace and command on the battlefield-- surely you have seen it, too. I am certain she can use her gift to make of me a glorious dancer!"

He hoped her faith was placed well. He'd never seen the Professor dance in any capacity, so he hoped for Flayn's sake that her deadly martial grace translated well to a ballroom floor. He would hate for her to be embarrassed. Perhaps he was just being overly anxious.

"When will you be practicing? I would be delighted to come down and watch you practice," he said.

"Brother, no! I only want you to see me dance on the big day! I want it to be a surprise. I just wanted to make sure you knew far enough in advance so you could come to see it!"

Seteth frowned. "Flayn, there's nothing in the world that would keep me from coming to see you dance. Surely you know that."

"I know. But I want you to be able to be there and enjoy yourself without worry of the work you leave behind."

_(Ah. She had him there.)_

"I promise that I will be there, Flayn. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

\--

Flayn and Byleth had chosen to meet in the classroom in the evening to conduct their dance practice. They'd covertly scouted out the competition beforehand and there were serious contenders. Dorothea represented the Black Eagle House and had experience as a diva with the Mittelfrank Opera Company, which made her the obvious frontrunner due to her experience. The Golden Deer were fielding Lorenz, who would have been well-versed in courtly dances as a noble.

But Flayn was certain they had an edge. Flayn's secret weapon would be her raw charm. And she also had The Professor, who hadn't met a challenge she couldn't overcome yet! There was no way they could fail!

After they had kicked the door closed and locked it, Byleth turned to Flayn with a sigh.

"Flayn… I have to confess. I don't actually know how to dance."

Flayn was stunned silent for a second. "You jest."

Byleth shook her head. "No, I don't. It's not exactly vital to survival, so Jeralt never really taught me." 

"But you were so confident before!"

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just that you were so excited. I didn't want to let you down," Byleth said with a sigh. "We'll figure out something. For the competition and for the ball. I won't let you lose. I am a woman of my word."

Silence fell between them as Flayn drifted to the middle of the room. Dancing recalled memories from long ago, back to happier times. She remembered her parents, young and in love, waltzing in the den to the tune of hearth fire and crickets. How her mother and father both would take turns sweeping her into twirls and lead her around the room. Such happy memories those were, back when they knew nothing but love and contentment.

Her father may not have realized, but Flayn had never forgotten those cherished memories. She held them close to her heart always. Sometimes walking those old steps again pushed the sorrows away as she wrapped herself in memories of old.

She'd only done so behind closed doors. He had been scarred by the loss of her mother. Even to this day, he mourns her. Everything he ever found joy in back in those golden days was pushed away, never to be partaken in again. Dancing would only bring back memories of the things he has lost. Precious little remains that he will allow himself. And though she knows his pain and his reticence don't mean to deprive _her_ of these things, they do.

But perhaps she could give him a new memory. Perhaps she could bring back one indulgence, one joyful moment. Maybe then he will accept _this_ again.

And perhaps she will get a chance to dance at the ball at long last. To dance as any young woman should.

"To your feet, Professor! Take my hand and I will show you what I know. We will teach ourselves. We will learn together!"


	4. Waltz (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Heron Cup is here!

**Waltz (2/3)**

Flayn was a surprisingly exacting taskmaster.

The two week run up to the White Heron Cup was an exhausting whirlwind of activity for Byleth's class. The students were cramming ahead of several major exams (leadership, economics, and weapons certifications to name a few), and some of her more reluctant students were wearing her out with the extra tutoring time requests. On top of all that were daily sessions with Flayn, who pursued their mutual practice with unusually aggressive zeal.

"One-two-three! One-two-three! Move with me, Professor," Flayn would say as they practiced the basic sequence of steps. "You need merely follow where I take you!"

Correcting Byleth's two left feet took the better part of two days of practice. And oh, what a fun two days that was. But the most illuminating thing was the reversal of roles. Flayn and Byleth had swapped titles, it seemed-- the student becoming the teacher and vice versa-- and there was something amusing about how seriously she took that task.

One night, Flayn had diagnosed Byleth's problem. They had mastered the basics of the dance, but yhe problem was the stiffness. It didn't feel like dance as much as stiff choreography, and while that was serviceable enough for Byleth, it simply would not do for Professor Flayn.

"How do you move like you do on the battlefield?" she asked.

"How…? I don't know, Flayn. I just fight. I don't really think about it."

"But you visualize your target, yes? Where you want to go?"

"…yes."

"Let me ask you this, professor: do you have time to meticulously plan out your attack in the heat of battle?"

"It's mostly just instinct. I go for the kill and let my momentum and my instinct guide me."

"See! It is the same in dance as it is in combat," said Flayn. "Professor, your skill and grace with a blade is undeniable. You yourself say that it is more doing than thinking. But when it comes to things off of the battlefield, you are different. You seem stuck in your own mind. Afraid to make a wrong choice."

Byleth intended to deny it, but reconsidered and conceded. It was true. She'd had a stilted conversation with Hubert earlier that very day that was made awkward by Byleth's uncertainty with answering. She'd been so careful to phrase her response in such a way as to not annoy him that he'd been annoyed anyway by a perceived lack of genuineness.

"I've seen you! Outside of battle, you overthink things and forget to move with the moment, Professor. Be it life or love or dance, take a hint from the surety of your sword. Realize your intention and let instinct take care of the rest!"

\--

The big day was here at last. The White Heron Cup was to be held tonight, and Flayn was practically alight with nervous energy.

Seteth had tried his best to soothe her from her slightly frazzled state over breakfast. He was so proud of her-- she'd been completely committed to this endeavor since she had started it. She had practiced so much, and though Flayn had strictly forbid him from watching her practice, he was certain his little girl was ready. He knew she would have what it took to win the day.

Before he took his leave to attend to his work, he presented her with a gift, to bless her with good fortune. An achingly familiar pearl charm suspended on a delicate thread of gold.

Her mother's necklace.

"I've kept this safe for you all of these years. I was always going to give it to you, but I didn't know when the right time would be. But what better time is there than this?"

She was moved to tears of joy as she careened into Seteth's arms. "No matter what happens today, I love you, Little Light," he said. "Go out there tonight and shine."

\--

"Is this seat taken?"

Seteth was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of Professor Byleth. True to his word, he had curtailed his daily duties early to be able to get a choice seat in the Reception Hall, where the dance was to take place. He hadn't really been saving the seat next to him, but if The Professor was looking to sit with him this evening, he certainly would not object. He invited her to take a seat and they watched as the students filtered in.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," called out Alois, "Welcome to this year's annual White Heron Cup! I will be your humble host tonight. Let us meet the judges and our contestants for this evening…"

Seteth's attention trailed off of Alois' prattle to take in the sights of the room around him. In his 20 years working at Garreg Mach, he had never before been compelled to attend the dance competition. It was a silly little pastime for the students, after all. Now that Flayn was a student herself, attending these sorts of events would likely be more common in the future.

He was ever nervous about her safety, it was true. Perhaps to the point of paranoia, even. But it was undeniable that she was happiest being a normal girl living a normal life. She had tasted freedom and now she would revel in it. He was certain she would never choose to suffer the loneliness of hiding ever again. He sincerely hoped their days of their hiding were done, for her sake.

His attention was drawn back to the center floor when the musicians began to play a musical accompaniment for the first dancer.

First up was Lorenz, representing the Golden Deer. He'd performed a court dance that was currently popular in the Northern Leicester territories. He was elegant to be sure, well-practiced. Dorothea went after him, representing the Black Eagles. She performed a dance she had learned for a stage production. She was quite skilled as well.

When Flayn took the stage, she gave her everything. Flayn moved swiftly and gracefully, deftly moving with the music. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

When he saw the smile on her face, he was transported back in time. Back to a warm summer night where he watched mother and daughter dance barefoot under the stars without a care in the world. The visions ran together as she danced, his daughter skipping across ages with every spin.

The spell was broken as she bowed for her audience, the hall roaring with applause for his little girl. He joined in the applause with gusto, blinking away the sheen of tears in his eyes, hoping that no one had noticed.

When she was crowned the winner, her joy was so pure and brilliant that it could light up the night. Oh, how he missed that smile. How he had missed that courage, that confidence.

He turned to the Professor next to him, full of gratitude to her for making this possible.

"Professor… for this, for everything…thank you."

"Oh, this? No…this was all Flayn."


	5. Waltz (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ball has arrived! Shall we dance?

**Waltz (3/3)**

Byleth Eisner gave herself a once over in the mirror as she smoothed over the stiff fabric of the formal academy uniform she'd selected for this evening's activities. She felt a little self-conscious in the dress and capelet, to be honest.

It wasn't because she didn't like it-- it really was a beautiful dress, with lovely gold piping and embroidery and the kind of heavy fabric that felt luxurious to the touch. It felt like an indulgence. Byleth, having grown up in a band of mercenaries had seldom ever had the opportunity to own something this nice, let alone get a chance to wear it. But special occasions did call for special dress, after all.

Tonight was the highly-anticpated Garreg Mach Ball, and most of the Officers Academy was likely to be in attendance. It felt a little silly to be so anxious about it-- she was merely a chaperone for goddesses' sake-- but she wanted to look like she belonged there tonight.

After shooing off Annette's latest attempt to coax her into becoming a living canvas, she tried to settle her nerves with a cup of tea and Mercedes's calming company. She was concerned with the prospect of making a fool out of herself tonight.

Whoever had given her the title Ashen Demon would probably piss themselves laughing at the thought of an emotionless killer being worried about a damn school dance.

Her dancing endeavor with Flayn had ended up being a mutually beneficial arrangement; Flayn had been able to practice and gain confidence, and Byleth had learned how to not to look like a stumbling novice if asked to dance tonight. It had been fortuitous timing. But thinking of Flayn inevitably brought to mind her brother, whom Byleth had been thinking about an awful lot lately.

Seteth had been on the list of expected chaperones for tonight's festivities. This wasn't surprising, since the man was effectively everywhere. But it did mean that she would have the chance to encounter him in a more intimate social setting than the dining hall. This was important, for two reasons:

1: She was enamoured with Seteth.

2: She suspected that those feelings may be mutual.

Ever since she had taken to inviting him to lunch, things had changed between them. Where he'd seemed like a cold, aloof jerk at their first meeting, she'd come to know a man who was much different. His occasional prickliness and acerbic attitude hid a perceptive, sensitive soul within. Sure, he was stone-serious most of the time, but there was a well profound compassion within. So many of her students had told her of their encounters with him, and the sage advice he usually gave was a source of comfort and contemplation for many.

She had also personally come to appreciate his wisdom and his guiding hand; the quiet, self-assured strength he radiated whenever she felt lost. She had grown quite fond of the other sides of him, too-- the one that wrote fables for children and relished in the telling of his tales. The man who'd recently taken to subtly teasing her over mission briefings. The man whose fierce protectiveness was a force of nature. The man who had given his trust and his faith to her willingly when she brought his sister back.

The closer their friendship had become, the more notice she took of the little things that she'd missed before. Like how the faintest blush dusted his cheeks when he noticed the intensity of her attention. How he hid his smiles behind a raised hand when she peppered him with jokes at afternoon tea. How pleasant his gentle smiles could be. The rarity of his pleasant laughter.

So yes-- she definitely had feelings for Seteth. But she was quite sure that it was not a one-sided affectation. The softness of his manner suggested that he may share her interest. What that could mean for the future, she could not say. But she had to find out for sure. And what better time to do that than the ball?

With a steadying breath, she joined the long trail of students making their way to the makeshift ballroom. Their path was illuminated by the dying rays of the setting sun.

\--

The chaperones had their work cut out for them. The students were pairing off left and right, some to dance as intended, others to start mischief under cover of the crowd. The chaperones had been tasked with keeping order, which was easier said than done-- the kids were especially lively tonight. Lorenz was trying out his best pick-up techniques (to little success). Raphael kept raiding the banquet table. Caspar wanted to spar with the rougher crowd and Sylvain was attempting to woo half of the student body. A rumor was being spread that the cider was poisoned, courtesy of Claude.

Byleth would sneak looks at Seteth across the room whenever she would get the chance. He wore his stony sentinel face tonight, to maximum rabble-discouraging effect. Once or twice she had caught him looking in her direction, but she wasn't sure if he had been looking at her or if something was going on behind her that she had missed. The first two hours had not proved to be as good an opportunity as she had hoped.

Things became much easier when their duty relief showed up and they were free to pursue the remainder of their evening as they wished. She watched as he ducked out of side door, heading toward the ramparts. She wondered if he just wanted to be alone.

\--

Seteth excused himself from the ballroom at the first opportunity. The air was fresh and crisp, the rampart blessedly quiet compared to the chaos he'd stepped away from. He allowed his feet to carry him wherever they willed as he let his thoughts drift. Drifting to the uncertainty that lingered about them. To the unending task of defending all they knew and loved... and to the Professor, who seemed to be lingering on his mind.

He'd been locked in a constant battle of late, the urging of his logical mind warring with the intensity of his loneliness. Hundreds of years had passed since the horror that was Tailtean, the battle on the plains where his failures had nearly cost him everything. Hundreds of years in which he'd served as a lonely sentinel, standing guard over a daughter he wasn't sure would awaken. Hundreds of years he'd spent bereft of companionship.

The Holy Mother had granted him a rare gift when Flayn had awoken. There wasn't a day that passed that he did not get on his knees and offer his gratitude to the Holy Mother for her return. But he had pledged himself to penance as he'd knelt on that blood-soaked plain. Her divine mercy was not his forgiveness. It had not resolved him of his sins, sins that would burden him for life.

He buries himself in his work, patching the cracks in his heart with duty. It is the only way he has learned to move forward. But though it has no right to, his heart longs for more.

It longs for the comfort of a loving gaze and a subtle smile. For the security offered by quiet strength and an indomitable will that complimented his own.

Byleth had proven her trustworthiness to him during the nightmare that had been the Horsebow Moon. She had been kind to him when he had been nothing but cold stone. She had pledged her aid to him in his hour of darkest despair, and she had fought demons to pull his daughter back from the dark. She went out of her way to be kind to him when he had done nothing to deserve it.

In accepting her friendship, he learned Byleth's true measure and came to understand the sheer size of the gulf that lay between them. She was quiet and kind. Thoughtful and honest. Courageous. Beautiful. Despite her quiet nature, the students flocked to her like moths to a flame, drawn in by a mysterious charisma that had no equal. She resonates with an ancient power that feels familiar to him.

He, too had found himself drawn into the flame. Oh, how he wished that he had the courage to ask for her hand and pull her out to the dance floor. To hold her gaze for a moment, just on him. To steal her away to the Goddess Tower under the light of the moon and confess the depth of his regard for her…

But that is where the fantasy falters. He cannot fathom her considering him as anything more than friends. She shouldn't. He has little to offer her, in truth. He was inconceivably old, shrouded in secrets and scarred from without and within. She deserved more in a companion than his ghosts and his traumas.

His sole redeeming virtue was his stubbornness. His willingness to endure. He was the Lance and the Shield, created by the Holy Mother to defend. He would gladly take the wounds of war if it meant that those he loved would not suffer them. He resolved that even if he could not have her love, he would still give her his; his devotion, his determination.

That would have to be enough.

Seteth sighed as he watched the silver blanket of clouds drift through the valley below the rampart. The merriment of the dance seemed long forgotten.

The clearing of a throat gently pulled him from his maudlin thoughts as he turned to his visitor-- Professor Byleth herself.

"I saw that you'd skipped out of the ball. I was wondering when you were coming back. Is everything okay?"

Part of him was touched that she had noticed his absence. "Just thinking about things. Everything's quite alright," he replied, though he was certain the heaviness in his throat as he swallowed would give him away.

"You know…I've got a confession to make," she said and his heart slammed to a sudden stop.

"I've never been to a ball before. This is all new to me," she said, a tint of blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. "To be honest, I'm scared of making a fool of myself in there."

He smothered his irrational disappointment, and tried to offer her reassurance. "There no need to fear. It is nothing more than a formal dance party, Byleth. Sure, there are nobles and finery, but it is ultimately meant to be an enjoyable experience."

"Is that why you're out here? Because it's enjoyable?"

He grinned at that. "Well, I did say meant. I didn't say it was. Truth be told, it is a little loud in there for my taste. And there's only so much ego-fluffing and preening I can deal with at a given time. But the students enjoy it."

Byleth nodded. "It seems so. I'm surprised; some of the more unlikely kids actually showed up to the dance. Bernie was so certain that she wasn't going to come, but she must have changed her mind. And Felix's appearance seems to have reigned in Sylvain's conquest. It started out a little more chaotic than I had been expecting, but I think they're starting to calm down."

"Fortunate we are then, that the Heir of House Gautier has at last been subdued," he replied with a chuckle. "And they say miracles never happen."

There was a brief lull in their conversation then, a comfortable silence. She seemed a smidge fidgety, as if she was nervous. But perhaps that was simply his imagination.

"Actually, Claude tried to get me out on the dance floor earlier," she said. "But I had to decline. Too crowded. Too complicated. Too many eyes watching. And I wasn't lying before when I said I wasn't much of a dancer. But truth be told, I do want to dance. I'd just rather dance with my friend."

Seteth's eyes snap to hers then, searching her gaze as his hand rises to hers, unbidden. His snarl of conflicting emotions were thrust to the back of his mind to give her his full and undivided attention. If he was her choice for companionship this evening, he would be happy to indulge her.

"Miss Byleth Eisner," he asked, "is this your way of asking me to dance?"

She didn't answer with words, gifting him her hand with a gentle, lopsided smile. He pulled her in closer, one hand spanning her shoulder blade, the other softly gripping her leading hand to guide her.

The soft music that filtered through the open doors was slow and indistinct. He led her into a slow sway, back and forth, letting comfort set their cadence. She softened to him as he did to her. They moved together slowly, two steps left, two steps right.

The slow turn of her in his arms was the most exquisite pain. So soft, so close, so beautiful. It didn't matter if the song had changed or if it had ended, they were lost in a moment to themselves under the clear sky above. How unfair it was that they couldn't live in this moment forever.

As their dance drew to a close, Byleth released her grip on his hand, but kept her eyes trained on his face. Her expression was soft, almost dreamlike.

"Seteth, I--" she began to say. Their faces were so close… if he were a bolder man, he could lean in and--

"Lord Seteth!"

The moment shattered instantly. He wanted to snarl at the timing of the knight that was fast approaching. What had she been about to say?

"Lord Seteth! I've been looking all over for you," said the knight, unaware of the moment he had walked into and trampled over. "Lady Rhea is requesting your presence immediately!"

He sighed. Rhea.

Duty never sleeps and neither did he. His evening was effectively over.

"Back to work, then," said he, taking her hand in his and brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles, earning him a pretty blush. "I must bid you good night, Byleth. I had a wonderful time."

"So did I. Good night, Seteth."

He sighs as he makes his way to Rhea's rooms, roaming the halls by lantern light.

If it were possible, his heart hurt even more than it did before.

Hurt for what he wanted so badly, but could not have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Byleth SCREAMED, punting Mr. Knight into the sun the end


	6. Shelter in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth mourns for the first time.

**Shelter In The Rain**

Rare storms howled across Garreg Mach that day, buckets of rain pouring from the sky, flooding walkways and placing the residents on edge. Garreg Mach's position cradled in the heart of the Oghma Mountains meant that these storms were rare occurrences.

Rumors associated the dark skies and driving winds as a bad omen.

A bad omen that had spoken true. Byleth and Jeralt had been dispatched to investigate the happenings at the abandoned chapel. Students had gone missing, demonic beasts had spawned. Assassins had been afoot with poisoned blades….

Byleth had come back unharmed.

Jeralt had not.

The Knights of Seiros had lost their captain.

Byleth Eisner had lost her father.

\--  
For the first two days after their return from the disastrous mission she had refused to leave her room. Refused to open the door, even. All who came to see her were turned away by the lock of the steadfast door. Those who came to offer condolences were shut out as well. If not for the quiet sound of crying that could be heard now and then, one would think the room to have been locked and empty.

To Seteth's eyes, she was shutting herself away from the world. To say that it concerned him was an understatement. While it was to be expected for a mourner to want some time to be alone with their grief, Byleth's self-imposed isolation was especially worrisome in that Byleth did not have a lot of experience dealing with feelings. He was worried that they would overwhelm her.

She shouldn't have to grieve for the first time alone. Not when there were so many waiting at her door that wanted to help her carry her burdens.

\--

Day three saw her venturing out of her quarters for the first time since Jeralt's passing. Bedraggled and emotionally spent, she numbly wandered the halls, making her way up the stairs to her father's old office. She simply drifted past those that stopped to talk to her. She felt detached from the world around her.

There was never enough damn time, he'd said.

She closed the door behind her and rested her weight on it for a little while. The office was untouched, as if this were just another day and Jeralt had stepped out.

Byleth was drowning in her grief. She had never known a home-- Jeralt had been home. Everone else in her life came and went, and they drifted across the lands in search of coin, but her one constant had always been Jeralt.

And now, she didn't even have him anymore. She was adrift with no tether. And these feelings were whirling about in her head, buffeting her around with their force. Sorrow. Despair. Anger.

Search everywhere, he had told her.

Her hands began to shake as she pulled the books off of the shelf, leafing through them to find whatever he had left for her. She tossed them to the side and kept going when she found nothing out of the ordinary, pulling the next ones out in twos, threes, throwing them to corner of the room.

Still nothing.

Hot tears rolled over her cheeks as her search became more frenetic. She started sweeping books off of the bookshelf in her frustration. Even in death, he was still hiding things from her! Why did everything have to be hidden from her?

She was so tired of the secrecy.

\--

Seteth's ears had perked at the sound of commotion across the hall. At first it had sounded like the footfalls of heavy boots. When the sound had morphed into clattering, breaking, tearful pleas, Seteth was on his feet and across the hall in a flash, finding Byleth furiously tearing into the bookshelf and violently casting its contents to the ground.

"Calm, Byleth!"

He called out for her, but she couldn't hear him. She had been swallowed up in her turmoil. When she started attempting to tear the bookshelf away from the wall, he had seen enough.

He seized her then, pulling her to the couch where she could inflict no further harm, pinning her arms against him so she couldn't break free. For several minutes she fought him, but he was determined to hold fast, attempting to calm her with his voice.

She was unsafe alone right now.

When the fight had at last gone out of her, he loosened his hold, but kept her close. She buried her face in his shirt, soaking it in tears, hanging on to him for dear life. He felt her every shudder, her every sob as she wrung herself dry again. Through all of it, he hummed gently and held her, waiting for the tide of despair to ebb away.

"Seteth," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Yes?"

"Does it always hurt like this?"

"No," he said, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. "Not forever. Not like this."

He could see the bruises on her knuckles, two days old, testament to the storm within that threatened to tear her apart. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. All he could do was ride out the storm with her so she wouldn't be alone. To be her strength so she could (for once) be weak.

Time passes, the sun sinks lower, but little else changes. She does not break away. He does not leave. They coexist in this fragile calm together, not knowing how long it will last. Not knowing what to expect next.

"It was easier when I was empty," she murmurs against his collarbone. "Not better... but easier. Love is painful."

"Love is what gives life its meaning," he says. "Anything worth loving is worth the grief."


	7. Support Your Local Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth and Byleth have an important mission in the library.

Garreg Mach's library collection was famous throughout Fodlan as a trove of knowledge. Exotic, rare manuscripts intermixed with the Church of Seiros' vast collection of historical and scriptural works.

Of course, this kind of collection was not easy to gather. Much of their collection had been acquired over the years by generous donors or wealthy noble benefactors.

But their latest donor was a little too…generous. At least in terms of the _content_ of the books they were being given.

A mysterious individual had recently begun sneaking books of… _questionable repute_ onto the shelves at the library. Some students had recently stumbled upon these books and word about the "exciting new content" was spreading through the student body like wildfire.

This is how Seteth found himself picking through the shelves of the vast collection on a Friday evening, hunting for rogue books. He would rather be doing almost anything else.

"Seteth," called a voice from below-- Professor Byleth. "Are you in here?"

"Upstairs," he responded, thumbing his pages through a book that looked suspect. Ah. Just a medical text...

He picked up one that looked a little out of place. It was probably just the metaphorical-sounding title clashing with the droll names of the medical references that caught his eye.

He flipped open the cover and nearly had an aneurysm. There's a very naked woman depicted on the inside, fraternizing with a _very excited_ man in very interesting positions. Another smutty book smuggled onto the shelves! In a church!

"What are you reading?" Byleth asks, suddenly far too close. He snapped the cover closed as fast as humanly possible and just about launched it in the air in his haste to get it away from his person.

"Ah, me? Nothing. I'm not _reading_ anything. I am scanning the stacks for inappropriate content that's recently been smuggled into the library. For the students to be exposed to these books of these sorts at a school is absolutely unacceptable."

Here, he'd thought it couldn't get worse--sure enough, it had. This was an awkward enough task to undergo by himself, but to have lovely Professor Byleth here to witness this humiliating task made it doubly distracting and mortifying.

Byleth, inviting herself to assist, picked up a book off of a nearby shelf (occupations) and studied it for a minute. "The Mighty Halberdier," she read aloud and thumbed through the pages. She smirked as she came across the illustration of a rather ridiculously well-endowed man. "…I see. Huh. Overcompensating much?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. What was that?"

Seteth came around the bookshelf on her other side and promptly turned red as a tomato as he saw the book in her hands.

"It's everywhere," he growls. "I've already located thirty of these _smutty_ books and I keep running across more! Where are they coming from? Who would donate such drivel to a church?"

"Someone that's having a lot of fun causing a stir," Byleth said with a little grin, setting the tale of the braggadocious halberdier into the growing pile of literary contraband. She was taking great delight in Seteth's abject mortification. He was cute when he was flustered. It broke up his stony professionalism.

He plucked another book off of the shelf and sneered at it before he unceremoniously dropped it on the floor in disgust before continuing on his path. Byleth picked it up.

 _Confessions of a Hot Priest_ , the spine read.

Well. Maybe she would confiscate that. For research purposes.

"When was the last time you had a donation?"

"Two moons ago," he replied. "And I personally was the one that approved those, so I can tell you for a fact that they are not from that batch. This is a very recent plague." 

"Have you considered that the students themselves may be doing this?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to try staving off a headache. It didn't appear to be working.

"It's not outside of the realm of possibility," he said. "But if it were, I'm not sure how we would control it."

Bless his soul, it looked like he was agonizing over the fate of the world, not some dumb risque books.

Byleth shook her head. "I'm not sure you can. Just take it for what it is: mischief. I'm sure it will taper off once the fun wears out. Now come," she said, taking hold of his arm and pulling him away from the bookshelf, motioning for him to follow her downstairs. "I'm in the mood for tea and you…really look like you could use a break."

"That would be lovely," he said. He could suffer this foolishness later. Having tea would be a much more pleasant use of his time. 

The mischief could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the distant reaches of the library, Claude Von Riegan smiles.


	8. Proceed With Caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solon, Kronya, Byleth. The Fell Star is reborn.

Monica had been spotted again.

Word had come to her late in the day that Jeralt's killer had recently been seen in the Sealed Forest. The anger had she had warred with in the aftermath of his slaying had returned, but it was different this time-- quieter, colder, but still as insistent. Now that her chance for vengeance was at hand, it was all she could think about.

_Careful, Byleth. I hope you know what you're doing,_ a voice whispers in her head. Sothis. She pushes past it, steeling her mind for battle as she dons her armor. The Ashen Demon rears its head again and she willfully wears the mask again. Monica would taste the steel of the Blade Breaker's Daughter tonight.

Rhea and Seteth both had wasted no time in locating her, approaching Byleth as she marshaled her students to depart.

"I forbid it, Byleth. You cannot go to the Sealed Forest," said Rhea. Her face was as hard and serious as Byleth had ever seen it. Fortunately, Byleth wasn't in the mood to be cowed into submission.

"I will go with or without your blessing, Archbishop," said Byleth, her face set into the impassive mask of old. "This is personal. You cannot stop me."

Rhea had flinched, as if taken aback. Had she hurt her feelings? If so, it hadn't been intentional.

"Professor Byleth, please," Rhea said, "Consider that this may be a trap. The sudden appearance of Monica and her forces so close to the monastery speaks to some sort of plan. We know not what it is, but without a doubt, it is meant to lure you out to them. Please, let the Knights handle this."

"I understand your concern, Archbishop. But I have already decided. I will not be deterred."

Rhea observed her with an odd look on her face that she couldn't decipher-- disappointment, perhaps? She didn't care about that at the moment--that was a complicated relationship she would have to sort out at another time. But something about the set of Seteth's face did bother her. It was his particular brand of worry--dressed up in his trademark professionalism, to be sure-- but she knew just by looking at him that his concern came from a genuine place. And though he did have a tendency to worry overmuch, something about the tightness of his expression gave her pause.

Seteth was her friend. He understood her, more than most. She didn't know what motivated Rhea, but she did know what motivated _him--_ so she chose to appeal to his protective nature instead.

"Seteth, your sister is more dear to you than anything in the world. What if the Death Knight had seriously harmed her? Would you allow him to get away without paying the price for his crimes?"

Seteth grimaced. It was an unpleasantly grim hypothetical, one that had very nearly come to pass. "No," he conceded. "I wouldn't."

"You would smite him with everything you had in you. I know this.Can't you see that I have to do the same?"

Byleth squeezed the grip of the Sword of the Creator.

"Jeralt was the only family I had. The only friend I had for most of my life. If I can't at least avenge his death, what kind of daughter am I?"

When Rhea and Seteth exchanged glances, she knew that she had won. There was no reasonable argument to prevent her from bringing her father's killer to justice. Her appeal to Seteth had only cemented the deal.

"Professor, we can't stop you. And I won't stand in your way," he said. "But I implore you, Professor…please be careful. I have a terrible feeling. I hope that I am wrong."

\--  
Byleth stalked Kronya through the underbrush, tracking her through the back-lit bramble of sunset by the smell of the assassin's acrid blood and her palpable fear. Kronya was fast, but the Ashen Demon knew that she would eventually overtake her out of determination alone.

_Caution, Byleth_ , whispered Sothis in her head as the students fell further behind. Byleth pushed her warnings aside.

Kronya burst out from the brushline, charging across an old courtyard, capped by four pillars of stone. Byleth paid no mind and continued to give chase. Kronya would meet her end tonight.

When Solon suddenly appeared at the center of the square and snagged Kronya by the heart, Byleth skidded to a halt. It was not by her own volition-- a ripple of strangeness pulsed about her like an impending storm, curtains of swirling black mist tracing the square around her.

"Begone, Fell Star!" cried Solon. "To the forbidden void of Zahras with you!"

Black smoke belched out of magic circles traced on the stones below her, swallowing the space around her, thick with malice. When the black cloud at last swept over her, the world about her winked out of sight.

When she opened her eyes, she was nowhere.

No sight.

No sound.

Just emptiness with no way out.

\--

"You idiot! I was warning you that something was wrong, but no! You ignored me and charged ahead anyway! And look what happened," scolded Sothis. "You have no idea the predicament that we're in, do you?"

Byleth shook her head. This was so far out of her depth that she was honestly lost.

"That mage Solon has locked us in another dimension. A pocket of nothingness, detached from our world. There is no exit from a place like this."

"We'll go mad in here," Byleth whispered. Sounds in Zahras' darkness did not carry, and the oppressive darkness felt suffocatingly close.

The guilt that was setting in didn't help matters, either. She thought of her students, now suddenly truly alone for the first time on the battlefield. All of her Lions, strong and brave, but so young still. Who knew what dangers they would face after she vanished?

She thought of kind Flayn, who looked upon her with eyes far too old for her professed age. Who missed her mother terribly and longed for Byleth's friendship. Oh, she had so much she wanted to tell her. 

Oh, Seteth.

So close they had come that night at the ball. If only either of them had been braver, had given voice to what ran between them…but now she was gone and their chance lost. The shadows would only grow longer in his eyes. She would be yet another life lost that his heart would have to account for, another scar to bear. Another reason to retreat back further into his hard shell of duty. She had wanted to love him and had only brought him pain, instead. 

A shame, all of it. A hot prickle threatened to rise at the corner of her eyes, but she forbid it to turn to tears. Crying would not solve her problem.

"I hear the course of your thoughts, Byleth," said Sothis. "We are not dead. Not yet. There is one thing we may be able to do. If you are willing."

Sothis appeared to her, seemingly illuminated from within.

"This place… only a god's will can pierce the wall of this cloak. Perhaps if I lend you my power, we can force our way back out," the girl intoned as a pulsing golden glow outlined her form, rippling around them.

"I am Sothis, The Divine Mother. She who died and then returned. Beginning and end both. Byleth, should you accept my gift, your spirit and mine will become one. Our fates forever tied, for good or ill. Will you accept this gift and this burden?"

Without hesitation, Byleth reached out her hand to Sothis.

_May your will be born again within me, Sothis._

A rush of golden light suffused Byleth as she was changed by the power rushing into her. She overflowed with it, divine energy pouring from her in a violent tide as her new eyes took in the cursed darkness about her.

The Sword of the Creator glowed like molten earth in her hands as Sothis's strength fused to hers and willed her to pierce the darkness.

The Fell Star had been reborn.  
\--

She hadn't realized the full gravity of her decision until she had come to the next morning. Exhausted from her transformation, she had apparently collapsed and was carried back to the monastery by Dimitri.

Her hair had turned pale as seafoam and her eyes had turned teal. Her ears were different, too-- a rounded point to them she hadn't noticed before. Whatever Sothis was, it was clear that Byleth herself had changed, too. It was strange, but not too unsettling-- Byleth had never worried overmuch about aesthetics and the changes in this case were hardly monstrous.

What she did dislike, however was her students jumping at the sight of her at every turn. Of people treating her as some sort of curiosity to be studied. Not to mention the ones that kept accusing her of being some sort of ghost. She was certain it would grow old in time and that they would eventually forget about it, but it was damn annoying.

What was more hurtful than that however is the effect that it had on her closest friendships. While Flayn had been captivated by her transformation-- so much so that she seemed to be going out of her way to spend as much time as possible with her, the opposite seemed to be happening with Seteth. 

He had apparently rushed to her side upon her arrival back to the monestary (according to Dimitri, he'd been quite distressed), but now he seemed distant. Contemplative. Never was he unkind when she approached him about something, but she was certain that he was avoiding her and she couldn't quite understand why. 

Was he upset with her?

He wouldn't say.

One day, she noticed that he had failed to make their usual weekend lunch date and decided that she'd had enough speculation. She was going to get a straight answer out of him one way or another. After confirming with Flayn that he had not been by to take a meal, she made her way to his office, a plate of fish gratin in hand. She knocked on the door to his office and requested to be allowed in.

"Professor Byleth, good afternoon. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, you can. You can take this," she said, pushing the plate into his hands. "And then you can tell me why you've been avoiding me."

"What? I haven't--"

"I don't have a lot of friends, Seteth. Adult friends," she added before he attempted to make the distinction. "So the ones I do have, I pay attention to and ever since I came back it feels like you can't seem to bring yourself to look at me."

Seteth sighed. "I'm not angry with you, Byleth. There was no transgression to forgive. I've simply had a lot on my mind of late. I'm afraid I make for rather poor company right now and so I hoped to spare you the trouble. I appreciate your thoughtfulness," he said as the accepted the proffered plate of fish gratin.

"Seteth, if it helps, I'm sorry that I argued with you."

"You needn't apologize for having feelings. Or being motivated by them. The fact that you feel like you need to justify them upsets me, in truth. You are as much a person as anyone else, self-determination and all. If I've ever managed to make you feel otherwise… I can only apologize profusely. When I tried to stop you before, it was only because I feared for your safety, not because I didn't think you had the right to make that decision," he said. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. 

_Surely you know that I love you,_ he wanted to say.

"You are a valued companion," he said instead.

"More than anything, I'm wondering what the future holds for Fódlan," he continued. "Dimitri told me what you had told him-- that the goddess Sothis gave her power to you. Without getting into how you and the Holy Mother even got to be acquainted in the first place… such a thing is concerning. It portends a turbulent future ahead of us. Such gifts are rarely given to mortals in times of peace. The only reason the Holy Mother would give her power to you is if she felt you would have need of it."

He fixed her with a searching stare.

"Professor Byleth… I fear for you. I have the sinking feeling that you will be at the seat of everything that is to come. I pray for fortune to see you safely through your trials."


	9. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early fall festival is being held in town and our favorite family attends.

**Surprises**

At the onset of autumn, the lands surrounding the Monastery and the villages of Garreg Mach are alight in the fiery colors of autumn. The lands are rich with game and bountiful harvests. As the last of the late summer heat wanes and the season turns, the local villages host an annual festival to celebrate their blessings.

Ever since Flayn had awoken from her slumber, attending the festival had become something of a tradition for the little family. This morning, however, Flayn had suggested that he invite someone else to come along with them and partake in the festivities. It was a pleasing enough idea--and he knew exactly who he would choose-- but he was certain that his lovely, kind daughter had an ulterior motive to her request.

Flayn seemed to have caught on to his fondness for the Professor. At every turn, she seemed to be finding excuses to pair them together, even for the most inane of tasks. As well-intentioned and sweet as her efforts were, it hurt a little. He tried his very best to be everything that his daughter needed. She shouldn't have to spend her time fretting over the barrenness of his personal life.

Nevertheless, it sounded like an enjoyable enough evening, and so he casually extended the invitation after the faculty meeting. In truth, he had been expecting to be turned down-- Byleth was a very busy woman and as such likely had more important things to do than piddle around at a village fair with him and his daughter. But he was pleasantly surprised when she accepted his invitation, so much so that it had distracted him from his work for much of the afternoon.

He met up with Flayn and Byleth at the monastery market, catching the road and following the mile-long trail headed out to the nearby town. Flayn regaled Byleth with her surprisingly extensive knowledge of history of the festival on the way. He couldn't help but take notice of the image of the two of them talking together, not professor and student, but as friends. His imagination caught on to a different interpretation of that image that was harder to shake-- Byleth walking with them, just because. Byleth being part of their little family.

That was far too fantastical and far too forward an idea to entertain. Yes, he was quite taken with the professor's charms, but aside from a lovely dance and their weekly lunches, she hadn't said or done anything to suggest that she saw him as being anything more than good friends.

Flayn would be quite cross with him to know he was thinking this way. She often accused him of sabotaging himself in his personal affairs. It wasn't an unfair charge, he supposed. He was very hesitant to bring others into their lives for many reasons, only some of which were related to the secrecy of their identity. In truth, while he enjoyed being in her company, he knew it would not be right to press for more.

He appreciates her friendship and her kind consideration of Flayn, regardless.

The town celebration was dubbed a chrysanthemum festival, celebrating when the plentiful local flowers looked their loveliest and the harvests were at their richest. Of course, as with any festival, this became an excuse for vendors of all sorts to set up shop-- purveyors of the sugar-dusted fried snacks that Flayn adored among then. The streets bustled with activity-- shopkeepers hawking candied fruits of all sorts and preserves, fancy textiles and lovely vestments, and a wide array of unusual market goods. Heaping baskets of chrysanthemum flowers and harvest bounty sat at every stall, rich with lovely autumn colors-- canary yellow, fiery orange, rich sienna.

Flayn spotted Mercedes and Annette from afar and took off ahead of them as they drew closer to the square, leaving Byleth and Seteth to fend for themselves. Byleth, never having been to the event before, was curious about the excitement. He let Byleth lead them as they passed from stall to stall, stopping whenever something caught her eye.

He followed her to a weapons stall, where a particularly ornate Levin Sword had caught her eye. She tested out its heft in her hands, examinining the quality of the craftsmanship. He couldn't help but admire how focused and clever she was as she haggled with the blacksmith for a cut on the price. Ultimately she won out, snagging the blade for a decent discount.

"A keen eye you have Miss Eisner," he said as they walked away. "I never knew you had an interest in the more arcane blades."

"I never really got to own many as a mercenary," she replied as she slipped the blade onto her belt. "I've always been interested in them, though. What makes them different from the others, how they work, that sort of thing. Now I have the coin to own them."

Their light banter continued as they made their way through the streets. Children flitted happily about them without a care in the world. The sounds of flutes and fiddles and drums folded neatly into the laughter and liveliness of the town. The delectable smell of fresh herbs, savory delicacies and tasty delights perfumed the air about them.

They passed by the candied fruit stall where he stopped to pick out a selection of various sweet treats for Flayn. Doubtless she would pick up some of her own, but as she was prone to sharing her treats and would run out quickly, he found it helpful to keep a secret stash of his own for her, just in case. He was also quite partial of the salted spicy tree nuts that were popular fare at this time of year, so he got some of those as well.

On an afternoon like this, it was easy to forget that danger continued to lurk in their lives. It was a tempting fantasy-- that Byleth and he were ordinary people living out an ordinary life. But she was nothing of the sort and neither was he.

Her stomach growling got his attention and he decided to treat her to dinner at one of the taverns. Flayn joined them and they shared a meal of braised venison roast together. It was a far more intimate experience than their usual weekend lunches or teas-- less shop-talk and more familiar banter around the table. Byleth lightly teased Flayn for dancing with Raphael earlier in the square and Flayn gave them a recap of all of the most interesting run-ins she'd had with her classmates. Byleth asked him to tell her about his latest tale, which he happily obliged. He was quite proud of his latest tale and always enjoyed talking about his creative exploits rather than his penchant for bureaucracy.

Their table at the ale-house was cozy and it felt like it could be any old night at their very own dining room table. Sitting side-by-side, sharing the same meal, talking about life as any normal family would.

And that's what got him the most. She felt like family. Like the reliable comfort of a hearth fire on a cold night, as perfect a fit in his life as if they had been made for it. Her presence felt like it filled a long-empty hole in him and it was harder to pay attention to the voice in his head that told him no when he was this charmed by her. He would catch her watching him when she thought he wasn't looking, the firelight of the tavern reflecting in her clever eyes and making them glow. He would savor the aching fondness he felt whenever she graced him with one of her muted smiles.

As they finished their meal, Flayn had taken Byleth and run off once again as he stopped to rest his aching feet at a nearby bench. Rather than pursue them, he allowed himself to savor a rare moment of calm and peace all to himself. It hadn't lasted long-- they were back again in a few minutes and his attention drawn back to them-- but the moment to breathe without the crushing weight on his anxiety and guilt was welcome.

Flayn and Byleth had returned wearing crowns of autumn blooms, looking like a perfect pair. In Byleth's hand she bore another, which she placed gently upon his head. His cheeks felt warm as she settled it into his hair, and though he should have been wary of her messing with his hair or possibly seeing his ears, of discovering his strangeness, there wasn't a hint of fear in him.

His trust in her is absolute.

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and his heart stuttered in his chest. Her hand was warm and gripped his softly, the calluses on her hands only adding to her charm. She didn't let go.

"Let's go home," she says.

He knew then, that he could not live without her. That home would be wherever she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a little delay on this through the weekend, as I have a midterm test coming up in my advanced pharmacology class, but I will be right back on this thing right after I'm done.


	10. Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Seteth journey to the Rhodos Coast, where they have some revelations.

**Found Family**

They were preparing to depart to the Rhodos Coast.

It wasn't quite how Byleth had envisioned spending her weekend, but when Flayn had come to her earlier to plead for assistance, she knew she was going to give in. Chances to go to the coast were rare these days, and the kids were excited about the prospect of warm sun, surf and soft sands.

Of course, sightseeing wasn't the reason that they were going. The ongoing problems with the Western Church had come to a head once again. Dissidents from the Western Church were said to have laid claim to the beachhead that housed the Holy Monument of Saint Cichol, where the sacred relics of Saint Cichol and Saint Cethleann were enshrined. They claimed the Guardian Saint himself gave them his blessing for their rebellion from the Central Church.

She could understand why the church leadership would have been bothered by this turn of events. But Seteth was much more than bothered by the news-- he'd been angry about it, so much so that he had nearly charged out to do battle by himself. It was surprisingly hotheaded behavior for the normally calm, cautious advisor, meaning that there must have been some sort of personal stake in this fight.

Flayn had begged her brother to wait long enough to allow others to accompany him for his safety, which he ultimately relented to. Byleth was relieved-- it worried her that her friend was willing to rush headlong into the unknown by himself, without even the Knights as backup. If she could be there to help, she would keep him out of harm's way.

Well… that wasn't the only reason.

She would never admit it, but she was also interested at the prospect of seeing Seteth in battle for the first time. She knew that the man had past experience in armed combat, as he regularly taught weekend seminars in lance and axe combat. From her observations, he handled the weapons with a practiced ease and provided practical advice. But how recently has been involved with live combat? Would he be as decisive with a weapon as he was in the audience room?

She was going to find out. She ushered her Lions to quickly prepare for their travel and set out by mid-morning, led by the wyvern-mounted Right Hand soaring above them, leading them down the roads that would take them to the sea.

\--  
Seteth's mode of transportation was vastly superior on the beach, it turned out. While she and her students were slowed by the sand and surf, he skipped through the sky and over the waves with a silver lance, skewering the enemy combatants with skill and grace.

That wasn't to say her team didn't engage the enemy. The bulk of the Western Church's military forces were on the beach. They engaged her heaviest hitters in their defensive formation with Annette, Mercedes and Flayn behind them providing offensive spellwork and healing arts. Felix and Ashe had taken to the cliff face near the brush, mowing down the enemies that were hiding from the battle raging below.

By early evening, their enemies had been subdued-- once the bodies had been dealt with, the students were tasked with setting up camp on the cliff before they lost the light of the day. Byleth had quickly thrown up her tent and sought out her flock, just to make sure everyone was accounted for and unharmed.

Byleth found Seteth out at the monument island with Flayn. She waded out into the calf-deep water, making her way to the little island to check on them.

He stood before the great stone slabs seemingly lost in thought as Flayn kneeled at the foot of the altar, wildflowers in hand. The mood was unexpectedly somber and Byleth felt as if she had intruded upon something. She considered turning back before he suddenly addressed her.

"Professor Byleth, I must thank you for your assistance today," he said. "Because of your gracious aid, this holy site is safe once again."

"Glad to help," she replied. Her eyes were drawn to the glyphs carved into the stone slabs, glowing with magic power. The symbols were indecipherable, except for the Saint's distinctive crest clearly emblazoned front-and center on the slab. "What is this place, exactly?"

"This is a monument placed to honor Saint Cichol the Faithful," Seteth said. "The Scriptures of Seiros state that it was here that he was visited upon by the will of the Holy Mother herself. He was tasked with sharing his gifts of faith and strength with the world at this very place."

He held a familiar-looking relic weapon in his hands. "It also serves as a shrine for the Saints' holy arms-- the Spear of Assal and the Staff of Caduceus," he said. "They were interred here many years ago, in hopes that they would never again be called upon to spill blood or mend the wounds of war. A noble sentiment, if naive. In truth, those purporting to be _treasure hunters_ routinely disturb this place of rest seeking these holy relics. I believe it is for the best that we take them back with us to be secured in the monastery."

"Sounds like a good idea."

She sees him turn his gaze to Flayn for a long time. She talks to the stone, as if holding a one-sided conversation with a friend.

He turns his gaze to her.

"Beyond those things… this spot is also the resting place of someone very dear to Flayn and I," he said. "Professor, what I tell you, I tell you now because I trust you. Because I feel you have a right to know, considering all that you've done for us."

"Flayn is not my sister. She is my daughter," he confessed. "I regret the deception, but it was necessary to protect her from those who would threaten to harm her."

 _Huh. That explains so much,_ she thought.

"I…hadn't thought about it before," replied Byleth, nodding. "But I can see it. Makes more sense to me, actually.

Seteth looked a little put-out by her muted reaction. "You are taking this in stride," he said. "So either you truly are utterly unflappable or we are poor actors. Which one is it, pray tell?"

"No, it's nothing like that. I guess I had a feeling when I watched you in the crowd at the White Heron Cup," she said, turning her gaze to the ocean to hide the warm bloom creeping into her cheeks. "When she got up on stage, you just had a look to you… like you were the proudest father in the world."

"Oh. Well, I am that too," he said with a little smile.

Seteth turned back to the monument with a sigh and the mood turned somber once again.

"My wife was laid to rest here, many years ago," he said. "Flayn and I always come to pay our respects to her whenever we get a chance."

Byleth considered what he said. His wife, buried at a holy monument? "If you don't mind my asking, what happened? To be buried at such an auspicious place… I assume there's a story."

"We were both priests of the Holy Order of Saint Cichol, serving the Church of Seiros out of Arianrhód," he said, but something raw and wounded lurked under his voice somewhere. "She died in battle one day defending this very beachhead from an attack by a heretic cult. She was given burial honors befitting of the heroes of that order. For her bravery and her virtue, she was interred on the island itself. So that the Saint may repay her devotion and guard her soul in her slumber."

He watched the waves roll in as the sun set further, the darkening seas constantly lapping at the shore of the little sandbar island.

"That was a long time ago," he continued after a while. "There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of her. Of that life we led, long ago. Wonderful years those were, but you never realize how special, how precious something is until it's gone. We carry our fond memories with us, but Time pushes us onward."

Flayn rose from her position at the altar and came over to take his hand.

"We cannot live in the past, Father. We cannot be afraid to live in the present moment," said Flayn. "She would want that for both of us, I think. To honor her by living."

"My sweet Flayn, when was it that you became so wise?"

Byleth watched the two of them with a sad smile. Their family of two had been touched by tragedy, but they were moving on as best as they could.

\--

The class had finished setting up camp along the beachside cliffs, far enough away from the water that they didn't have to worry about the tides. Raphael was being chased up the beach by the gulls as Caspar crashed around in the surf trying to catch the fish that darted around in the shallows, his pants rolled up to his knees. Other students were similarly scattered-- Felix, Leonie and Petra had gone out hunting for game, and Bernie scoured the shoreline for shells. Many of the others sat huddled around a driftwood bonfire, looking every bit the youngsters they were.

Seteth and Byleth had made their way back to shore and sat beside one another on a flat rock at the treeline, watching over the children from a distance. The kids were having a fine time. It was worth the trip if it got their minds off of the more serious troubles that loomed so close of late.

She got lost in that train of thought and allowed her mind to wander in their companionable silence.

Byleth then laughed unexpectedly, startling Seteth, who looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.

"Oh goddess," she said. "It makes so much sense now."

"What does?"

"Why you're such a dad."

Seteth spluttered as he took a drink from his waterskin. He appeared confused and a little distressed.

"No, let me explain-- you've a way with the kids that's paternal. You guide them, you care about them. You would destroy those who would wish to hurt them. Some of them talk about things with you that they can't share with their own fathers. So I guess that's what I mean… you're such a natural parent that I think it comes out in everything you do."

Seteth considered her observation-- he supposed it did make sense. He did make it a point to reach out to students that seemed to be struggling, or could use a bit of advice. Stern as he was known to be, he knew that a few of the kids did appreciate his presence in their life.

"I…That's quite the compliment, Byleth. I suppose I do have an inclination to it. It's very important to me to take care of those I care about, however I can," he said, weighing over his next statement carefully.

"But as you said about me, your students look up to you as well. Especially those students that come from fractured homes. They put all of their trust in you. Some see you as a member of their own family. Almost…like a mother."

Byleth was taken aback. "I never would have thought myself to be the motherly type. Not expressive enough, I guess."

"It comes from the heart, Professor, not what's on your face. Genuine care, kindness, wisdom, selflessness… those are qualities you do have in spades. And I… I know that you do because I have seen it. When Flayn comes home in the evenings proud of what you've helped her to accomplish…I suppose I'm grateful that she has someone in her life like that again, is all."

He fell silent for a while after that-- his voice had grown heavy with emotion and Byleth could tell he was fighting to keep it at bay.

"I suppose one could say I'm grateful for you. For your presence in her life…and in mine."

Byleth couldn't help the blush that crept into her cheeks at the thought. She hoped the flickering firelight disguised it well enough, but when she caught sight of the sheer warmth of his expression, felt the sincerity of his regard, all hope was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bernie was adopted by Seteth and Byleth, fight me


	11. At Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the Rhodos Coast adventures. Byleth and Seteth pray together and someone has a revelation.

**At Dawn**

Byleth awoke from her rest with the first stirrings of the dawn. It came naturally with the schedule she normally kept-- there was much to do in the mornings before the day's classes began-- but she couldn't deny that being an early riser definitely came with some perks, especially when they were out camping afield. It was usually a good opportunity to snag a peaceful moment to herself.

The horizon glowed softly with the steadily rising sun. It was early enough that most of the students were not up and about yet, other than those who had elected to take night watch. Dimitri and Dedue could be seen from afar at the west edge of camp, having a quiet conversation. Felix ran through his sword stances at the eastern edge of camp, his eyes ever vigilant.

When the sun at last peeked over the flat horizon, the light skipped across the surface of the sea in a way that drew her eye to a lone figure standing on the beach. She let her curiosity guide her across the dunes toward the shoreline. As she drew closer, she realized it was Seteth, gazing out at the sea.

He looked different without his heavy layers of ornate vestments. Dressed in a billowing white linen shirt and cream-colored breeches rolled up to the knees, he looked remarkably at ease. Younger, perhaps. Like he was allowed a moment's freedom away from the weight of the world on his shoulders and sought to savor it.

She watched how the cool, salty breeze tousled his hair as the surf lapped at his bare feet. As she drew nearer to him, she realized he was murmuring quietly, reciting prayers.

She quietly toed out of her boots and set them next to his. After all of her running around yesterday, her heels were a little tender. Curling her toes into the soft, wet sand was bliss.

He paused in his recitations as he heard her shuffling around behind him. He turned to her with a nod and a gentle smile.

"Good Morning, Professor. Up and about early, I see. I trust that you rested well?"

"Just fine. And I guess I'm just used to early mornings," she replied. "I get more done that way."

"I'm glad for that. A lovely morning is a pleasant gift to share with good company," he said as he turned his gaze back to the water. "I was reciting my daily prayers for the Goddess. Would you care to join me, Professor?"

As badly as Byleth wanted to say yes, she hesitated. Her upbringing with Jeralt had purposefully excluded spiritual traditions out of his distrust of Rhea and the Church of Seiros. She's worked to get to know her benefactors in the months since, but she was hardly well-versed in the words and teachings of Seiros.

Seteth, however, was extremely devoted to the faith. He was a high-ranking church official and regularly conducted services on weekends. He likely knew every word in every book by heart. Her attempts at prayer would likely pale in comparison at best or be gravely embarrassing at worst.

"You look concerned, Professor," he said. "Have I overstepped? I apologize-"

"No, that isn't it. I've… I've never really prayed before. Not in the traditional sense. I wouldn't have any idea what to say," Byleth confessed.

Seteth seemed to relax at that.

"There is nothing to be intimidated by. True, the most fervent believers devote their lives to studying the scriptures. But words written by others are always interpretations. It is what you feel, what you believe and what you do that shows the measure of your faith, no matter what it is for. Be it faith in a friend, the workings of the world or a higher power, faith needs no fancy words to make it real. It is the act of devotion.

"The truth of prayer is humble," he said. "It is a conversation between you and the Goddess. Where you share with her your faith and your fears and ask for her guidance. As with faith, the words you use to give it power are yours to choose."

He looked so earnest when he spoke of his faith. She'd expected something of a lecture when she admitted her ignorance of religious life, but she really ought to have known better. His reverence was genuine, and the faith that he spoke of was patient and thoughtful… like him.

"I'd like to join you, if you'd have me," said Byleth. "But perhaps you ought to lead. You're better with words."

"Of course."

Seteth gave her a reassuring smile and turned back to face the sea, where the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. He bowed his head and clasped his hands together in reverence, as Byleth followed along.

"Holy Mother," he intoned, "we pray that our words find your spirit well. As ever, we are grateful for the gift of another glorious dawn. Grateful for the blessings that you provide to us daily, keeping all we know and love whole and well.

"We ask for your guidance, Holy Mother. For your grace, that you may help us to walk the path of what is righteous and true. For your strength, so that we may protect the ones we love. For your wisdom, so that we may see the paths that lie before us and make wise decisions. For your courage," he said with a small pause, "so that we may be brave enough to live up to our hopes and stand against our fears."

"For these gifts we are forever grateful, Holy Mother. Praise be unto you. May we forever walk in your light."

They stood in silence for a while after he finished, watching the waves roll in. The cool waters of Rhodos washed over their feet as distant showers drifted by, far offshore. It felt strangely intimate-- sharing a prayer barefoot on the beach together, simply existing next to each other in this peaceful moment.

Courage, he'd said.

There was a sea of unspoken words between them. She could feel the weight of it every time her thoughts turned to him. He was comfort and clarity and safety. He was compassionate and thoughtful, loyal and brave. She itched to confess to him, but had always found an excuse not to out of fear of ruining the delicate thing they had.

_Courage,_ she chanted in her head. _Courage._

Byleth reached out and snagged his right hand, tangling her fingers in his. It wasn't the first time she'd ever held his hand-- she'd held it the day of the autumn festival-- but it was the first time that she didn't have an excuse for it. His hand was warm and soft, but it was his honest surprise and his searching eyes that warmed her the most.

He wasn't pulling away. His hand squeezed hers tentatively, gently. Encouraged by his response, she sidled closer to him, leaning in to rest her cheek against his arm. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin linen of his shirt.

"Byleth…are you interested in me?"

"Yes," she said, her mouth curled into a small smile. She had hoped her intentions were obvious. She left him flowers and bought him trinkets and took him out to dinner whenever she could. She had made it a point to befriend him and earn his and Flayn's trust and respect. Was that not proof enough of her regard for him?

The soft blush on his cheeks and the smile he wore at her response warmed her to her toes.

"Not that I'm not flattered, mind you," he said, his nervousness peeking out a little in the affected cadence of his speech. "I very much am. And I confess, I... I feel much the same. But I have to ask…why? Of anyone you could possibly have, why choose me?"

"Because you're you," she says. "When we prayed to Sothis earlier, I realized that I really didn't need to ask her for those things. Courage, grace, wisdom, strength…I already get all of that from you."


	12. Table for Two (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth and Byleth are flirting at lunch. Flayn figures something out.

**Table For Two (1/3)**

Something had happened between her father and the Professor at Rhodos.

In this, Flayn was absolutely certain.

On the surface, everything had been remarkably quiet and normal. Classes had resumed as scheduled. They had all settled right back into their usual routines. But there was something slightly off about the Professor and her father right now that she couldn't quite pin down.

Her father kept his composure well enough. Always professional, always serious and still so very Seteth . But Flayn could feel an undercurrent of something in him since their return from Rhodos… a curious excitement he practically buzzed with that got her attention.

She'd never seen him do that before. Or at least, not in a very long time.

The three of them were having lunch together today in the dining hall with Professor Byleth as they typically did on weekend afternoons. They were serving her personal favorite meal today- freshly grilled Teutates herring with lemon and butter and herbed rice. A basket of crusty, soft, warm onion bread sat between them for sharing.

But the Professor and her father were acting a little oddly. They only seemed mildly interested in the food. Where things had grown to be fairly jovial and comfortable between them during these lunch-dates, the topics of conversation seemed more timid this time around. Everything a hair more cautious, delicate. As if Professor Byleth and her father were relearning each other.

There were two possibilities in Flayn's mind for what had happened at Rhodos:

1\. They had fought. Flayn was certain that this had not been the case. Seteth had been unusually upbeat ever since their return a week ago. He typically hid his feelings well, but given his warm affections for Byleth, he would have definitely shown signs of distress if they had come to a disagreement. He was prone to dipping into quiet melancholy when upset, and that was definitely not what was going on.  
Which led to her other theory:

2.The nature of their friendship had changed. Changed to something more romantic, perhaps?  
Flayn had long-since guessed that her father was taken with the professor. The warmth in his eyes and his attentiveness to her gave him away easily. She had also learned enough about the Professor to notice the signs of a reciprocal interest in return. Byleth's face wasn't as much of a giveaway as Seteth's was-- her emotions were often muted-- but Byleth has her own tells-- her watchfulness, her eagerness to assist Seteth with tasks. Her interest in their little family, which has only seemed to intensify since whatever had happened at Rhodos.

They were being oddly coy with each other. Seteth picked idly at his herring, but he was far more interested in whatever Byleth and Flayn had to say than his meal. Byleth's eyes just seem to be fixated on his face as she sips at a goblet of chilled water. They talk about inconsequential things-- the weather, upcoming events, Hilda's grade on a battalion tactics essay. Their fingers casually brush when passing the salt and he bites his lip. She fidgets a little.

Oh, this was ridiculous. They absolutely knew. It was the only explanation for all this silliness. Their constant attempts at not-so-subtle, innocent flirting. The long gazes, their constant need to be around each other, the conversations that were easily derailed because they were just so distracted by each other… it was cute, but maddeningly frustrating.

Flayn had never been in a romantic relationship before, for obvious reasons. All she knew of love, she had learned from others-- stories from friends and romantic tales from books. Love should be grand and bold! The grand pursuit of one's deepest desires! Compared to the idea of a grand romance, watching Seteth and Byleth hesitantly dance around each other as shy teens might was oddly disappointing.

Then again, this was her father. Seteth, King of Caution, was wooing the Ashen Demon. It should really come as no surprise that they wanted to take things slow. It was in both of their natures to be careful and thoughtful, and Flayn supposed there was something to be learned in that, too.

They had parted ways as the one o'clock bell sounded. Seteth walked Byleth and Flayn over to the classrooms along the less-traveled back path, sending Flayn ahead of them so he could have a minute to speak to the Professor privately. She complied with his request, but snuck a look back at them once she was far enough ahead that she wouldn't be noticed.

He'd offered Byleth a brief bow and kissed her politely on the hand. To any onlooker, this was innocent enough, if a little overly formal for a random afternoon lunch, but this gesture meant far more than that. Seteth, as unfailingly polite as he was, tended to shy away from gestures as intimate as social kissing. For him to suddenly offer a hand-kiss to Byleth meant something very special. He was quite smitten, indeed.

Flayn resolved to badger him about it later. For now, she had an idea to work on.

\--

Seteth had left his office an hour early that afternoon. He stopped by the market to buy supplies for dinner, and wanted to make sure it was on the table before Flayn got home.

He felt a little apprehensive about the questions he was sure to get from Flayn at supper.

He had elected not to tell Flayn about the Professor following their encounter at the beach. What he and Byleth had shared with each other was very exciting, yes-- but it was also very new. They hadn't even really decided on any official status or arrangements yet-- they were simply learning to see each other in this new way. To see what could come of it.

He makes sure to purchase one of the Morfis damson cakes that Flayn loves.

Flayn loved Byleth. He was certain that she would have no problem with his new relationship with her. Hell, he was certain that she had been angling to match them together for some time. But Flayn had a tendency to get very attached to things very quickly.

As dearly as he hoped for things to go well with Byleth, he had to prepare for the very real possibility that she could change her mind. If that were to occur, he would hate for Flayn's heart to be broken.

After finishing up at the market, he made his way quickly back inside, eager to get in out of the biting winter chill. He hustles up to their hidden third floor apartment, immediately lighting a fire in the little stove and starting water on to boil for tea and for the cook-pot. He quickly puts away his fine robes and switches to the plain, soft tunic he wore as a house shirt as he sets to preparing the meal.

He was fortunate to have a relatively spacious home here at the monestary. It wasn't enormous, but it afforded him the all of the necessities-- separate bedrooms for himself and Flayn, a little kitchen and a dining room that doubled as a sitting room. It was even outfitted with a small private bath. He had outfitted it quite comfortably for himself and Flayn over the years.

It had been a quiet place for a very long time. It still was sometimes, especially whenever Flayn was out and about.

He sets a placement for two at their little dinner table. He imagines what it would be like to put another out for hypothetical company.

It is a comforting little fantasy to imagine Byleth here, feeling at home in his home. To imagine her having supper with them every night. To imagine her stretched out comfortably, reading on the sofa. He sees her playing card games with Flayn, coming to love her as much as he did. Sees her taking sleepy cat naps in the bedroom, soaking in the late afternoon sun.

…imagines her sharing a bottle of wine and a warm fur throw with him whilst cuddling on a cold night…

 _Stop that,_ he thinks. _Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?_

Perhaps his imagination was getting a little overeager, yes. But the thought of Byleth wanting to be part of his life warmed him to the bones. He wanted her to be here, wanted her to stay. To bring happiness back into his lonely home and his lonely life.

What was the harm in holding on to an innocent dream?

He finishes up the spicy fish stew just as a knock sounds at the door. He plucks the pot off of the heat with the hook and settles it on a trivet for the pot to cool before he gets over to opening the door.

Flayn is not there…but someone else is.

There stood the lovely Professor, a bottle of wine in hand, looking confused at his apparent bafflement.

"Flayn told me that you had invited me to dinner tonight. I thought I would bring something to go along with the meal," she said, holding up the bottle of white wine she had brought along. "But I notice that she isn't here. I take it she didn't tell you about having a sleepover party with Mercedes and Annette?"

"No, she did not," he admitted as he scrubbed his face with his hands. _Flayn!_ "My apologies, Professor. My daughter can be devious sometimes, and appears to have roped you in on it as well. I cannot apologize to you enough for the inconvenience. Please, allow me to compensate you for the wine--"

Byleth smiles and shakes her head.

"We can still have it, can't we? After all, you went through the trouble to make dinner, right? It would be a shame for it to go to waste," Byleth said.

Seteth was dumbstruck. He had just been pining for Byleth and she's suddenly standing right here, asking to come in. To be let into his life.

"If that is your wish, then I'd be delighted to have you as my guest," he says, holding the door open for her. "Come on in, Professor."

"Byleth," she corrects him with a smile as she walks on in.

"Byleth," he echoes. It sits nicely on his tongue and even better in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flayn cackles like a supervillain at the sleepover.


	13. Table for Two (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A house tour and a dinner date!
> 
> ALSO: There's a book referenced in this chapter. It's its own story:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248772

**Table For Two (2/3)**

The door closed with a resounding click as he shut it behind her, a perfect companion to his sudden stroke of nervous energy. While the serendipity of this occasion was appreciated, he hadn't planned for anything fancy or extravagant.

Had he known that this was going to happen, he would have planned things out a lot differently. He would have cooked a fancier meal and worn a more flattering shirt. He briefly debated if he could slip into his bedroom and change without making Byleth uncomfortable or suspicious, but as she was his only guest and he was certain she would notice, he was stuck in his plain casuals.

It is what it is, he supposed.

She wandered around the room with an appraising eye, taking measure of the size of his apartment. His little balcony that afforded a view of the Officers' Academy below. His little fireplace, with a sword and shield hanging over the mantle. His somewhat mismatched furniture collection, chosen not for style, but for comfort.

The apartment sported several knickknacks that gave it some character. Some framed paintings of birds and fish. Several potted plants. A jar of seashells. Bookshelves stuffed full of books, with fanciful, whimsical titles. His aesthetically-pleasing collection of fine quill pens with exotic feathers and rare inks.

"Your home is so cozy," she said as she concluded her little tour. "My quarters are just a little room, but you and Flayn have everything up here. I'm envious."

He hummed in reply as he set the wine out on the table, plucking a couple of wine glasses and a corkscrew out of a lesser-used cabinet.

"I must apologize for the modest size of your room, Professor. Garreg Mach has very few full-time residences, primarily for church leaders. The academy instructors typically take up residence in the town on private property, but on short-term notice, the Officers' Academy rooms were the only lodging available to offer. If you anticipate staying at the monastery long-term and if you are interested, I would gladly help you seek out something a little more comfortable," he offered hopefully.

_Stay. Stay. Say you want to stay here at Garreg Mach._

"Perhaps one day I'll take you up on that. But first-- dinner. I'm starving. What's on the menu," she said, pulling out a seat at the table eagerly.

"A Flayn favorite: spicy fish stew," he said, plucking the cover off of the iron pot. It was a rich tomato and whitefish stew, heavily herbed, and the smell that wafted out with the steam was fresh and delightful.

She served herself a bowl of stew as he carefully worked the stubborn cork out of the wine bottle, trying not to accidentally break it. He poured wine for the both of them. She leaned in with a grin and ran the tip of her finger smoothly around the rim of both of their glasses. He watched in awe as the wine glass fogged over, chilling itself.

"A little trick I've learned," she said, trying to stifle a cheeky little grin. "Those instructor training lessons are really paying off."

Seteth remained outwardly calm but inside he was buzzing with excitement. _What a show-off,_ he thought. _But… confidence and humor do look lovely on her..._

"I propose a toast, then. To new opportunities," he said as they touched their glasses gently together. "And to the new _abilities_ they entail."

"To new opportunities," she echoed as she took a sip.

She could hardly believe it. She was on a date with Seteth. Entirely by accident, at that.

There was something special about seeing him like this. Out of his uniform, dressed down comfortably in the confines of his little home. Drinking wine and sharing a delicious home-cooked meal with her at sunset. Slipping her soft smiles as they shared light banter about the goings-on of the day.

A couple of glasses in, things started to get a little more playful. She stole a chunk of carrot off of his plate and popped it into her mouth. He seemed startled by it at first.

"Byleth, my fork's been all over that plate. My mouth may as well have been on that carrot!"

"I'm not afraid of your mouth," she quipped bravely, relishing in the pretty blush that graced his cheeks.

They shared a slice of plum cake off of a single plate. Fewer dishes, she had reasoned--he had promptly agreed. The thick slice of plum cake was sweet, but it was the sharing of it that made it that much more delicious. The way his fork chased after hers, that playful look in his eyes. The way they swiped morsels away from each others' forks.

It amazed her that the cool, stern, unflappable Seteth she had met that first day shared a name and a face with this man. This Seteth was warm and inviting and eager. Charming. This Seteth also stole bites from her dessert, which was a little silly and incredibly cute.

Had she a heartbeat, she was sure it would be fluttering.

She helped him clear the kitchen (at her absolute insistence), tickled at the sight of Seteth elbow deep in suds at the washbasin. She felt a little pang in her chest at the sheer domesticity of the moment as she stacked the plates and bowls in the cabinets. She was handling his belongings, catching a glimpse of Seteth's private life that she never dreamed she would ever see.

She wandered over to the sitting room as he finished up, allowing her the chance to peruse his massive personal collection of books in greater detail. He had told her of his fable-writing hobby long-ago, but she hadn't realized he was such an avid collector of such tales himself. Many of these books were stunningly pretty and not at all what she expected. She had envisioned children's books, but many of these seemed more along the lines of epic poems, tales of saints and gods and mortal heroes.

She plucked one from the bookshelf that stood out to her with its gilt-edged pages and soft silk ribbon bookmark. On the insides, enchanted illustrations and artful calligraphy took her breath away. Dragons soared and clouds rolled, flowers blossomed before her eyes as the pages came alive.

 _The Earthenking and the Mother of Fire,_ the cover read. She delicately placed it back where she found it. Some of these books must be incalculably rare and fabulously expensive, and she didn't want to risk harming his collection in any way.

She settled down on the sofa, sinking gratefully into its plush softness and appreciating the warmth of the fireplace. He joined her soon afterward, refilled glasses in hand and she treated him to an encore of her magic trick. He was as charmed by it then as he had been the first time.

"Three glasses tonight! Seteth, I didn't know you had it in you."

"I indulge sometimes," he sniffed defensively. "Alcohol has little effect on me, but I can appreciate its charms from time to time."

"Aw, you do know how to have fun!"

"I'm perfectly capable of being fun. I…just also happen to be the responsible one most of the time."

"Which cancels each other out."

"…sadly, yes. I suppose it does."

"Oh Seteth, so responsible. So dutiful. Whatever am I to do with you?" She lamented dramatically. "How ever will I get to see you smile?"

He chuckles at her silly little theater and she makes the mistake of looking. His smile is arresting. It was as if his face was lit up from within like a sunbeam. Humor had softened the lines beneath his beautiful eyes and brightened them and she had never felt more under his thrall.

"Oh, there it is! I do believe it is happening!"

"A rare phenomenon, found courtesy of our dear Professor Byleth," he laughs. "May your name be in the history books forevermore!"

Their laughter calmed as they settled back into the easy comfort of each other's company. She leaned into him just as she had at Rhodos, and his arm curled around her to pull her closer. She was warm and soft, and there was something about the way she burrowed into him that made him melt.

He chanced a look over to her and was overwhelmed by her. She was always very beautiful, but there was something about her at this very moment that made him shiver. Her beautiful green eyes. Her long lashes. Her sweet smile. Her cute little laugh. The way the firelight played across her face and utterly illuminated her...

Oh, he was lost.

He moved without thinking and brushed the backs of his fingers feather-light down her cheek. Byleth's attention immediately snapped to him, her hand coming up to touch his as if to hold it there. For a breathless minute, they were caught in each other's gaze, unable to escape.

In his prayers at Rhodos, he had called upon the Divine Mother to bless them with courage. That was the same fateful prayer that had brought them to this very moment. It was finally his turn to prove his courage.

He leaned in and skimmed his lips softly over hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, it's gonna be three parts. Sorry


	14. Table for Two (3/3) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little spicy. Seteth does some self-reflecting. (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned- the rating of the fic just went up. This has a concentrated little shot of nsfw with a little brooding and anxiety for flavor.
> 
> Bon appetit!

**Table for Two (3-3)**

The first kiss was a chaste one, a soft, dry little brush of the lips to make clear his intent. To test the waters. To give Byleth every opportunity to change her mind, should she wish it.

At first, Byleth failed to react. She seemed frozen, staring blankly at him while she processed what happened.

The anxious part of him began to flail. That nagging negativity in his mind whispered doubt to him; told him that she didn't want him in this way after all. With a rare surge of confidence, he smothered those thoughts. He had not misread her. He could not have; those big, beautiful eyes that lingered only on him, that gentle touch that held him in place as surely as a tether… the way that her breath stuttered with that first shy little kiss.

He dipped his head again, catching her lips once more, this time a little softer, a little braver than the first. Her pink lips, soft as a rose petal, parted for him as her eyes fluttered closed. She drew in close like a moth to a low flame as she warmed to his touch. She shivered as his hands began to roam, ghosting down her neck and skimming across her collarbone with a tingling thrill.

"Seteth," she sighed. That soft sound of pleasure was utterly electric.

She was a dizzying contradiction his mind sought to sort out; battle-hardened steel forged into elegant curves, soft skin adorned with constellations of battle scars. At turns delicate and unyielding. She was delightful and dangerous and divine and she was _his._

He savored the taste of her, wine-laced and wanting as she coaxed him ever deeper. Her tongue flitted across his lower lip, catching him by surprise. Predator that she was, she pounced on that flinch and took control of the kiss, daringly plunging her tongue into his mouth to wrest that cool-headed control away.

She sought to steal his breath, to set his blood aflame. She tangled her fingers in his soft emerald hair and wound it tight around her fingers to coax him ever closer, appreciating his throaty moan as she asserted her control, clambering into his lap to sit astride him as she plundered his pretty mouth.

When they broke for air, Seteth pulled her down to him, lightly nipping a path from her jaw down to her throat, mauling it with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He'd never known Byleth to wear makeup or jewels or perfumes, yet she smelled irresistable. Something spicy and fiery and vaguely sweet intermixed with the smell of her; driving him wild as he sought the source of that intoxicating scent. He could taste it on her, some spicy perfumed oil dabbed on her throat, made more fragrant with the heat of her skin. He lapped it off of her with an eager tongue.

"Seteth," she gasped, as she bared her throat to him, hissing when he sucked a bruise into her slender neck. He felt her quake atop him when he cupped her round bottom and shapely hips in his hands, pulling her in tight. He relished in the lovely rosy blush of her skin as he teased her collarbone with hot breath and warm, wandering lips, flirting with the low neckline of her black blouse.

She wrested herself out of his grasp to tug his shirt off of him and fling it off into the unknown. She let her palms fall reverently on his pectorals, grasping greedily at their heft, threading her fingers through the verdant hair of his chest, skimming her eager hands over the hard planes of him.

She grinned at him as she hooked her thumbs in the hem of her shirt. Before she could peel it off herself, his hands grasped at hers and stilled her. She noticed the slight tremble to his grip.

"Byleth, wait."

He moved to sit up beneath her, and she moved back to oblige him.

"Are you certain that you truly want this?"

"Yes," she sighs, softly kissing him on the corner of his mouth. "I want this. I want you. But only if you want me, too."

"I do," he whispered into her mouth as he pulled her into another tantalizingly slow kiss. "I do. But I won't have you _here._ Not on the couch."

He gathered her in his arms gently and carried her into the dark of his bedroom. His heartbeat thrummed and his blood surged hot in his veins in anticipation of what was to come as he shut the door behind him and threw the deadbolt on the door.

He laid her down gently on the soft bed and took in the sight of her with relish as he lit the candle at bedside with a spark of fire magic. The sight of lovely, brave Byleth atop his bed was nothing short of inflaming. She was a treat to the senses, all creamy, soft skin wrapped up in black floral lace, her hair fanned about her like a halo. She grinned up at him with a confident little smile that inflamed him more.

In his weaker moments, his imagination was prone to playing cruel tricks on him. Sometimes he would imagine Byleth in domestic scenes, comfortably slotted into his world. Sometimes, he would daydream of happy little children with his hair and her striking eyes. Sometimes he would envision her wrapped up in his arms, loving him and accepting his everything. All of those were such beautiful daydreams, but they had always been soured by the knowledge that he'd done nothing to deserve anything that beautiful.

But Byleth was right here. Now. She was warm and soft and real, and inexplicably, she wanted him, too. It was dizzying and overwhelming as much as it was arousing. He felt a little like he was careening out of control, in honesty-- things between them were moving so fast, so suddenly-- but his need was so strong and he'd been alone for so incredibly long that he felt helpless to escape her pull. He wasn't sure he even wanted to.

What he did know was that he loved her. He longed for her, he thirsted for her. He would show her how deep his affections ran. Be it by word or by flesh, he would offer her his everything.

She deserved no less.

He slipped his hands behind her and unhooked her bra, biting his lip as her generous bosom bounced free. He cupped their softness in his hands, palming them reverently. Her soft pink areolae darkened, nipples puckering at his touch as he lavished them with attention. He tweaked and licked, taking her soft flesh in his mouth and sucked at them, savoring the way he made her tremble and gasp with every little move as he devoured her.

A questing hand grazed down the contours of her stomach with a feather-light touch, skimming down to linger over the lacy bottoms that hid her core. He teased her through the lace as he whispered in her ear.

"A hundred times I've let the chance to confess slip away from me. Not tonight, never again," he gusted in her ear. "I love you, Byleth. I love you in ways I had long forgotten. Like finding water after a thousand years of thirst."

She whimpered and twisted in his arms as he whipped her into a frenzy with his clever fingers and his hot mouth sucking at her neck.

"Remember that night at the ball? How we danced under the moon and the world fell away? That's how it feels to be with you," he whispered as he took mercy on her and slipped his fingers under the band at last. He slipped his long digits in her, savoring the slick cleft of her. His thumb found her swollen, tender nub as he worked his fingers into her, relishing every hitched breath and stuttered moan he coaxed out of her.

"Set-Seteth," she gasped, hips grinding desperately against his hand. Her whole face was painted in a hot blush, her face furrowed with frustration and ecstasy. "I can't-- please-"

"Byleth," he beckons softly as he guides her home. "Come for me, love?"

As if by design, she keened loudly as she crested, clawing madly at the bedspread. Her body broke out into a sweat. Her swollen sex was hot, pillowy and dripping wet around his fingers, and it ached to leave her as he pulled away to slip out of his pants and his smallclothes. He slid the lace panties off of her legs slowly, drawing out the anticipation.

He divested her of the skimpy scrap of lace, but let her keep her thigh-high stockings on. Those were rather charming on her, in truth. He would sear the image of beautiful Byleth on his brain forever, laid out ready and wanting on his bed, clothed in nothing but lilies and lace.

"Seteth," she murmured, the tone laced with something dark, needy, and desperate. "I need you. Not your fingers. You."

He complied without hesitation and gently pressed his flushed, weeping tip against her entrance. He pushed in decadently slowly, watching her face for any sign of pain. The long slide through her tight slickness absolutely delicious. She'd taken him down to the root where he lingered for a few minutes, to let her adjust to the feel of him.

He loved her desperately and he wanted her to know it in every way.

He pulled out slowly, nearly to the tip before he pushed in again, building a slow, steady rhythm of long strokes that lit a low fire in his belly. She hitched a leg over his hip as she learned to dance with him in their slow pace, her hips moving with his, working to take him deeper. To coax him faster. To break his control. They slid across each others' sweat-slicked bodies with instinctual precision, their slow rhythm gradually giving way, their strokes, faster, harder, more frenetic.

When her toes curled and she cried out, she clamped around him like the sweetest torture. His vision blanked out in a white-hot haze of lust, torn between pleasure and pain as he careened over the edge, coming hard with a stuttering gasp as he flooded her. They let their cadence ebb away slowly as they came down off of their high, desperate for breath, desperate for respite.

Seteth flopped bonelessly in the bed beside her as he slipped out, careful not to pin her under his weight. Byleth crawled into his arms, nestling up against him as he spooned her, anxious to wrap his precious burden in his protective embrace.

He kissed the crown of her head, keeping watch over her as she slept. His heart felt full to bursting, overflowing with affection for his lover… but the anxious voices in his head quietly chattered at him in the long hours of the night. He held her tight and prayed incessantly for her safety and happiness.

Oh, how hard he had fallen. How completely he had bound himself to her. She had been a source of strength and compassion and kindness in his lonely world and his heart had seized onto her, grown into her. The last time he had loved another this deeply and this much, she had been taken from him by war and he'd been cast asunder, nursing a broken heart for a thousand years.

He prayed with all of his heart that fate wouldn't find cause to wrest Byleth from him, too.

He did not know if he could survive such a thing again.


	15. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and teatime with Rhea.

**Promises, Promises**

Her first thought upon awakening was how warm and comfortable she was. It was a curious feeling; more than a physical sensation of comfort. It felt more like a rightness of place. She drifted along lazily in the eddy between wakefulness and sleep, knowing she should rise, but lacking the will to do so.

Eventually, the rising light of the morning sun summoned her from her doze. The grey dawn light streamed in through the gauzy curtains, illuminating the unfamiliar surroundings of a bedroom. After a single, stuttering second of confusion, memories of last night's passion filtered back into the forefront of her mind.

She was in Seteth's room.

In Seteth's bed.

With Seteth.

She noticed the warm weight of his body, settled against her. Seteth had come to embrace her in his sleep, his body pressed so close to hers that she could feel the lazy rise of his chest as he breathed. Even in his sleep, he twined about her and she found it enormously endearing.

She carefully turned about in his arms, careful not to wake her still slumbering lover.

He cut an endearingly intimate picture. Never had she seen Seteth as anything less than perfectly put together, but as with the entirety of last night, she was in uncharted waters. His normally meticulously styled hair was an absolute mess. It was unkempt and splayed about his face, partially obscuring it, like a lovely moon hiding behind a dark cloud. She reached up and gently brushed his hair aside with her fingertip, taking great care to avoid waking him. She tucked it gently behind his ear as she uncovered his handsome face.

Temporarily freed from shouldering the troubles of the world, his face appeared younger. Long lashes crested against the curve of his cheeks. The shadows of fatigue that normally darkened his eyes in his waking hours were absent.

It was then that she spared a glance at his exposed ear and noticed something unusual about it: his ears had an odd shape, coming to soft points at the tip of the helix. They were lovely in their own right, she supposed; as unusual as they were, they did suit the sense of mystery he occasionally exuded. She would love to ask him about them, but she figured that he was likely self-conscious about them. She hadn't caught so much of a glimpse at them in the entire time she had known him. That was no coincidence, and to respect his privacy, she would not pry.

That didn't mean she couldn't privately speculate about them. How exactly did one come to inherit such an odd trait? She'd once overheard Claude needling him for information about his lineage and Seteth had insisted that he came from no noble house and was of commoner birth. But by his own admission to her, he and his daughter both carried features rarely seen in Fódlan--his hair was as lush a green as the deep forest and his eyes were the color of finely-cut emeralds. Now she could add his pointed ears to the list of impossible features, the likes of which she'd never as much seen or heard of anywhere in her whole life, except in fairy tales. It was becoming clear that as much as he deflected about his lineage, there was most assuredly an interesting history in his family line that begged to be told. Perhaps that truth would have a hand in explaining his and Flayn's mismatched Major Crests.

_Secrets, secrets,_ a voice in her head mulled. It sounded suspiciously like Sothis. _It seems I am not the only one with secrets._ She scowled at the uncharitable thought and reasoned that Seteth had the right to reveal whatever he chose whenever he decided to do so. He was a generally honest person; if he kept secrets, it was likely for a good reason.

As she smoothed his hair behind his ear, he began to stir slightly. His eyes fluttered open, blearily fixing on her face.

"Good Morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he murmured softly, lazily drawing in to plant a sweet peck on her cheek before rolling back into his warm spot. His arms stayed wrapped around her and she felt him nuzzle his face into her snarl of minty locks. He remained there for so long that she thought he had nodded off again.

"Seteth?"

He hummed sleepily at her in response.

"Do you plan on waking up today, Seteth?"

"I suppose I must..."

Contrary to his admission, he made no move to roll out of bed. She could hardly blame him; between the warmth of their closeness, the smooth linens and the soft goose-down pillows, she wasn't exactly inclined to leave, either.

"We probably ought to talk," he said as he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. "As undeniably delightful as last night was, we've moved along in ways I hadn't quite expected."

"How so?"

"We went straight from bashful flirting to the bedroom. I would say that's quite a leap, don't you think?"

Byleth blushed. "I've always been practical-minded," she joked. In truth, sex really hadn't been her intention when she'd arrived last night. But everything had come together so perfectly last night; the intimacy, the comfort, the longing…both of them had gotten swept away in the wave before they could actually give what was going on between them a name. She understood his concern, but she didn't regret what had happened at all.

"Please, love. Humor me for a minute. We should talk about this. What are we? What do you want us to be?"

"I want to be your friend. Your most faithful companion. I want to know you in every way that I can. Only you," she said, picking nervously at the bedspread. Her cheeks blazed as she tried to find ways to describe what she felt. "I just want to be with you. I want you to want me like that, too."

Seteth was charmed by her candor, it seemed. "How can I argue with that? Byleth, I need you to know that what happened last night… it is not something I have ever done lightly. The last time I had lain with anyone was my wife, many years ago," he confessed, thoughtfully rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"In all honesty, I hadn't thought to look for anyone else after that. I'd just assumed that part of my life was over. And then you came along," he said with a little grin, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "I am grateful to be seen again, I suppose. To be wanted. I…I had forgotten how wonderful it felt."

"Long have I borne a torch for you, Byleth. To know that my feelings are reciprocated… means more to me than you know."

"Since when?"

"Pardon?"

"You said you've felt this way about me for a while," said Byleth. "I was wondering when it was that you noticed it. Or rather, how you knew."

Seteth was quiet for a while, his hands wandering her bare skin idly as he tried to back-trace the path of his affections. "There was no singular point, love. I suppose I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to you for rescuing my daughter. But I also had to reckon with the realization I had been unfair to you. I'd looked for malicious intentions where there were none. You had taken my abrasive treatment with such grace. In truth, it shamed me that I had treated you as such. But as I watched you work with new eyes, I found an appreciation for your many merits. Watching you guide and nurture your students showed me how thoughtful and kind you were. There's a saying for that: _'Through true kindness, one finds the measure of a heart.'_ Yours was undeniable."

Byleth nuzzled up against him, rubbing her cheek against the scruff of his jaw. "Oh, you weren't so cruel to me that I couldn't handle it, Seteth. I actually appreciated the fact that you had a rational opinion. Nobody knew me. And yet…everyone was putting so much trust in me entirely on my father's supposed reputation. At least with you, I knew where I stood. If I was going to change your mind about me, it would have to be something that I'd earned."

Seteth snuck a kiss on the crown of her head as he held her close. "Imagine that. Being grateful to me for being a pompous ass. You are far too kind."

"I was grateful for your honesty, Seteth! As tough as you were on me, I've never known you to be anything less than honest. And…"

"And…?"

"It didn't hurt that you were… handsome," she admitted with a little grin. "You have this little smile you do when you're pleased and it's quite cute. I knew once I saw it that I would do anything to have one for my own. And now I do."

He flashed her that same soft smile that made time seem to stop. He eagerly pounced upon her, rolling about playfully, peppering her with little kisses as his hands roamed her gratefully. He kneaded the ample flesh of her bottom with relish.

"Oh, you are a charmer," he hummed. "A man could get used to such flattery. What I wouldn't give to surprise you every day…"

He paused at that thought and gazed at her thoughtfully for the longest time. She'd risen to sit astride him and the sight she made caused his chest to ache. The sun was rising behind her, backlighting her in a glorious halo of soft gold. This morning had been a blissful haze of comfort and contentment, of warm, soft skin and warmer smiles.

He wasn't ready to let go.

He never wanted to let go.

"Stay with me, Byleth. For as long your heart wills it," he whispered. His hands came up to cup her cheeks reverently as he gazed into the depths of her green eyes. "For as long as we walk this earth, you'll have me. My everything, all for you, for as long as you'll have me."

He leaned in to capture her lips in a slow, gentle kiss. "Yes," she sighed, pressing her affirmation into his lips, melting against him. He came undone as she softened to his touch. She chanted _yes_ as he pressed confessions of his ardent affection into her skin with heated lips.

He rolled atop her then, pressing her down into the softness of the mattress. Giggles turned to soft sighs as they moved together in the dawn's light and for a time, there was nothing else left to say.

\--

Rhea sipped thoughtfully at her steaming tea, savoring the bitter, astringent flavor that often served to clear her mind.

Seteth was currently in the process of briefing her on encampments of bandits and highwaymen that had recently begun to appear on nearby supply roads. Also of note was the unusual influx of worshippers that had been making their way to the monastery. But though his words were important, she found her mind drawn elsewhere.

_Byleth hosts the Progenitor God._

It was unmistakable. She had been banished to another plane of existence entirely and tore through time and space to return, a feat only Sothis could have been capable of. Her appearance had also changed upon returning from the Darkness of Zahras; her hair and eyes now resembled that of the Nabatea.

The most compelling evidence of all was her ability to wield the strongest of the relics. The Sword of the Creator glowed like an ember for her and her alone, singing with Sothis' fury when she wielded it on the battlefield.

Rhea could scarcely believe it. Long had she toiled with the hope of bringing her mother back into the world. She had crafted vessel after vessel, her hopes dashed upon the rocks every time her creations failed anew.

They were all flawed in different ways. Some of the homunculi failed to realize the spark of life. Some attained life, but failed to manifest consciousness. Some managed both, but lived the short life of a mayfly. All of them failed to show the spark of the divine soul meant to rest within.

Rhea was no blind fool. Long had she struggled with the nature of her experiments. Sothis was the Holy Mother herself; blessed with divinity, she was fully capable of sowing the seed of life in anything. Whatever her divine spirit flooded was made real as surely as it had been born from nature.

However Mother Sothis had come to possess this miraculous power, it was clear that it had not been imparted to her children. Rhea had dedicated her life to attempting to rediscover her mother's divine arts, only to be met with failure time and time again. In her attempts to artificially create life, she had to work with what she had at hand. Her vessels were not her mother's works of art, but carefully crafted machines; amalgamations of crest stones, dragon blood, and human flesh, bound together with intricately interwoven layers of forbidden magics.

The vessel itself was not what mattered. It was but a chalice to hold her mother's Divine Spirit. Rhea could recognize the inherent callousness in such a process, but she had toiled far too long to allow emotion to stop her.

For a while, she thought she had finally found success. Sitri had been brought to life, frail of body, but clear and pure of mind. She had been hopeful for Sitri's future until her handmaiden fell in love with Jeralt and was with child. As her body failed, it became clear that her mother's spirit would yet again fail to manifest. With the inevitable death of Sitri, her child lost to the fire and her mother's crest stone missing, Rhea's hopes had been shattered.

Her dream of resurrecting Sothis had come to an end.

…or at least it had until Byleth reappeared twenty years later, alive and well. The moment Rhea laid eyes on her, she knew Byleth was fated to be the herald for change. Everything she had done in the months since had only affirmed Rhea'a faith that she was to be the Goddess Reborn.

The child of Sitri and Jeralt, she was true flesh and blood. Sothis' crest stone lay buried in her chest, the crest of flames burning bright within. After the transformation that occurred in the Sealed Forest, Rhea was now convinced that she had at last succeeded in her task of preparing a vessel capable of channeling her mother's Divine Spirit.

But there was only one way to know for sure: 

Byleth needed to take her place upon the Spirit Dais.

If all went as she expected, Byleth and the Divine Mother would become one. The lesser soul would be sacrificed to make room for the Divine Spirit. It would be a regrettable sacrifice, but an unavoidable one-- a vessel could only safely house one soul, and Sothis' spirit was too precious to risk.

That thought brought her back to her current ruminations. Professor Byleth was beloved throughout the monastery for her kindness, strength, and quiet humility. Her loss would be keenly felt, regardless of the second coming of Sothis.

It would be an especially painful blow to the other person in this very room.

Seteth may have thought himself subtle, but Rhea was fully aware he harbored romantic feelings for the Professor. He had been understandably wary of her at first, but she could feel the sea change that had occurred in the months since they'd made her acquaintance.

The battle at Tailtean had cursed him with a quiet, winnowing loneliness that had haunted him for so long that Cichol had lost entire pieces of himself. His outlook on the future, once so bright and full or promise, had been smothered down to coals. Once the most idealistic of her brethren, the Priest had reforged himself into a sword and shield. He lived solely for Cethleann's future. For Cethleann's happiness. For the greater good of the world. Though his personal missions continued, much of the man that had once been Cichol had been lost.

When Flayn had gone missing, he had fallen to an entirely new depth of despair. He would not sleep. He would not eat. He'd been lost in a maze of fear and terror. Had Flayn perished in the terrible ordeal of the Horsebow Moon, Seteth's will to live would likely have gone to the grave right along with her.

Flayn's rescue had heralded a turning point between him and the Professor. Where before he had been wary and untrustworthy, her assistance to Flayn in that dark hour had ripped down his walls and left him bare. He'd found in her someone to trust. Someone to believe in.

Trust was one thing. But what she'd noticed in him of late was something else entirely. He had taken to subtly watching the professor from afar, his attention stirred whenever he heard mention of her name. His eyes often remained fixed to her spot long after she had gone, as if his mind had followed her right out the door.

He'd recently begun taking tea and meals with the Professor more and more often. He contrived excuses to find himself in her company. But Rhea didn't need the obvious clues to tell her what she already knew.

Seteth was in love with her.

She knew it from the warmth she saw in his eyes whenever his thoughts turned to Byleth. She remembered that look from an innocent age long since passed, when he'd been little more than a loving husband and father living out a happy life by the sea. It was a time before they gained their grisly titles. _Survivors. Last Children. Saints._

It had taken him so long to find love again. To be willing to embrace it. He'd always been the type that loved cautiously, but fiercely once won. Guilt settled heavily in her chest, knowing that their next step would rip yet another precious companion away from him.

Mother would come back to the world of the living in all of her glory.

Cichol would have yet another love to mourn.

Rhea hopes he can someday forgive her for it.


End file.
